JENIFER 


— LUCY— 
MEACHAM 
THRUSTON 


*  *-, 


IBOX.  .OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELE& 


JENIFER 


SHE    STOOD    WITH    WIDE,    DELIGHTED     EYES    AND    FLUSHED 
CHEEK,    AS    JENIFER    RODE     UP    TO    HER." 

(Page  189)  FRONTISPIECE 


J  e  n  i  f  e  r 


BY 
LUCY   MEACHAM   THRUSTON 

AUTHOR  OF  "A   GIRL  OF  VIRGINIA," 
"MISTRESS   BRENT,"  ETC. 


With  a  Frontispiece  by 
J.   W.  Kennedy 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,   BROWN,   AND   COMPANY 

1907 


P- 


Copyright,  7907, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published  May,  1907 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

Electrotype*  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simondi  &  Ct 
Boston,  U.S.  A, 


TO 

3TttIitta 


2133138 


Illustrations 


PAGE 

"  SHE  STOOD  WITH  WIDE,  DELIGHTED  EYES  AND 
FLUSHED  CHEEK,  AS  JENIFER  RODE  UP  TO  HER  " 

Frontispiece 

"  THE  LAND  SLOPED  STEEPLY  OUTSIDE  THE  WINDOW, 
AND  SWELLED  HIGH  AGAIN  BEYOND  THE  NARROW 
VALLEY  .......  78 

THE  LANE  AT  THE  BARRACKS       .        ...»,.      .    140 
BRIAR  PARK        .          .          •         .          .          .         .    174 


Jenifer 


A  YOUNG  man  was  fishing  on  the  Chowan.  The 
brown,  clear  current  of  the  river  sang  under  the  stern 
of  his  boat,  and  went  rushing,  dark  and  cypress-stained, 
down  by  bold  woods  which  marched  to  the  brink  of 
the  water  and  studded  the  bed  of  the  river  with  gnarled 
cypress-knees,  on  where  the  land  was  low  and  rushes 
grew,  where  the  waters  split  about  the  islet  Blackbeard 
loved,  and  out  to  the  wide  blue  sound. 

Back  by  the  boat,  up  in  the  heart  of  the  swamp- 
land, the  sun  glinted  deep  yellow  in  the  ripples  about 
the  sun-grayed  stumps,  whose  crowns  had  been  wafted 
down  the  easy  river  road.  It  gleamed  upon  feathery 
shoots  of  the  denuded  trees,  upon  the  mistletoe  which 
nested  in  their  tangles,  and  on  the  man,  lazy,  content, 
and  blissful,  in  the  flat  bateau. 

A  string  of  sunfish  flapped  in  the  wet  bottom  of  the 
boat.  A  bass  that  had  fought  for  life  and  set  the  water 
swirling,  and  had  exercised  the  fisher's  breathless  skill, 
panted  beside  them.  A  fresh-cut  sapling,  with  fishing 


2  Jenifer 

cord  and  hook  wrapped  about  it,  trailed  from  the  stern. 

The  man  had  had  enough,  and  for  his  guerdon  were 
spring  sunlight  and  mist  of  gray  and  green  upon  the 
hills  above  the  marshland,  the  blue  and  tender  sky,  — 
and  that  unnamable  bliss  of  wind  and  wood  and 
water  and  life,  and  the  beat  of  a  man's  pulse  with  it, 
rhythm  to  rhythm. 

The  sun  shone  hot  upon  him,  and  the  water  held 
and  flung  back  the  radiance.  With  a  lazy  twirl  of 
the  oar  at  the  boat's  broad  stern  Jenifer  turned 
shoreward. 

The  day  was  his,  and  it  was  not  half-gone.  He 
knew  how  the  store  from  whose  imprisonment  he  fled 
looked  at  this  noon  hour,  big  and  dark  and  cool;  out- 
side, the  white  road,  the  cotton-gin,  the  bales  beside  it; 
and  beyond  them  the  thread  of  swamp  which  marked 
the  stream.  Fifty  yards  from  the  weather-beaten 
store  the  railroad  track  came  down  across  the  cotton- 
field,  and  the  lowered  rails  of  the  chestnut  fence  gave 
it  exit.  At  the  edge  of  the  swamp  towered  the  tank 
which  fed  the  engines'  boilers;  and  the  trestle  set  its 
foot  in  black  swamp,  and  bore  its  bridge  beneath  poplar 
and  gum  and  cypress,  while  the  stained  waters  ran 
below.  The  hum  of  the  one  train  down  —  one  up, 
one  down,  each  day  —  was  on  the  rails,  he  knew; 
the  warm  air  shimmered  on  the  road,  on  the  dip  of 
river-land,  and  the  gin  across  the  way;  and  the  thin 
line  of  the  engine's  smoke  was  in  the  air.  But  for 
him  was  the  rustling  of  last  year's  leaves  beneath  his 
tread,  the  setting  of  his  feet  on  ferns  uncurled  and 
tender  flowers,  the  gathering  of  twigs,  the  watching  of 


Jenifer  3 

blue  smoke  and  licking  flame,  and  the  sputtering  of 
fish  upon  the  embers. 

His  face,  where  manhood  had  not  yet  firmly  chiselled 
the  features,  was  in  his  curved  hands.  His  long  limbs 
were  deep  in  old  leaves  and  new  flowers.  In  his  pockets 
was  plenty  on  which  to  break  his  fast,  biscuit  brown 
and  light,  ham  smoke-cured  and  pink,  cake  crumbled 
to  a  mass  of  sweet  and  fruit  and  icing,  —  but  the  fish 
he  broiled  upon  the  coals  made  his  feast.  When  he 
had  eaten,  Jenifer  went  tramping  off  for  a  draught  to 
finish  it. 

Low  as  the  land  lies  along  the  Chowan  here  it  rolled 
to  round  swells  of  hills,  whose  feet  were  in  the  water, 
and  up  whose  sides  towered  trees  trailing  long  gray 
moss  upon  their  branches.  New  leaves  were  on  their 
tips.  The  low  rustling  of  their  soft  motion  filled  the 
air;  that  and  the  young  man's  tread.  Around  one 
curve  he  went,  and  up  another  hill.  A  trickle  sounded 
near.  Jenifer  found  and  followed  it  to  a  spring  where 
heart's-leaves  swept  to  the  brim  and  ran,  with  flowers 
and  ferns,  to  the  hilltop.  Between  the  line  of  the 
heart's-leaves  and  the  river  was  bare  clay. 

Jenifer  looked  at  it  carelessly.  Here  it  outcropped, 
and  there,  and  further  yet  amongst  the  low  hills,  and 
it  was  neither  red  nor  yellow,  like  the  clay  of  the  land, 
but  gray. 

Suddenly  he  sprang  across  the  narrow  stream, 
shaped  a  ball  of  the  stuff  eagerly,  washed  it  in  the 
water,  and  set  off  running  towards  the  curl  of  smoke 
above  the  coals.  Enough  of  them  were  glowing  red 
to  roll  the  ball  upon  and  cover  it.  He  piled  fresh 


4  Jenifer 

branches,  cypress  cones,  and  pine  bark,  and  watched 
fiercely.  When  the  porous,  biscuit-colored  ball  rolled 
in  the  dead  leaves  at  his  feet,  he  snatched  it  and 
stood  up  shouting,  tossing  it  from  hand  to  hand,  while 
it  scorched  his  hardened  palms.  Then  he  sat  down 
soberly,  the  soft  sheen  of  the  thing  between  the  ferns 
beside  him. 

Men  have  written  the  world's  fairy-tales,  but  the 
masculine  mind  loves  them  not.  Jenifer,  with  that 
ball,  shaped  like  an  apple,  at  his  feet,  knew  nothing 
of  the  lore  which  might  have  compassed  it,  no  legend 
of  the  Hesperides,  of  Paris,  of  Solomon,  and  the  tale  of 
Paradise  was  not  remembered;  but  he  knew  the  stuff 
of  which  this  was  fashioned,  and  the  knowledge  over- 
whelmed him. 

He  got  up  and  made  his  way  towards  the  stream 
and  the  sticky  sloughs  half-covered  by  drifted  leaves. 
He  followed  where  further  and  deeper  the  gray  stuff 
showed.  Every  sinew  of  him  was  strung,  his  black 
hair  matted  with  sweat.  He  took  to  his  bateau,  pad- 
dled furiously  up-stream,  landed,  and  tramped  the 
wood;  but  when  he  reached  the  road  the  whistle  which 
usually  marked  his  way  was  silent. 

The  string  of  fish  was  in  his  hands,  the  sapling  fishing- 
rod  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  black  hat  low  over  his 
eyes.  The  heat  of  the  day  had  intensified,  and  was  still 
and  significant.  A  line  of  gray  cloud  hung  above  the 
pines  towards  the  west.  The  sandy  road  was  empty. 

It  wound  by  fresh  plowed  earth  and  green  fence 
corners,  through  woods  and  past  unkempt  fields,  to  a 
sandy  stretch  between  newly  planted  cotton  lands  and 


Jenifer  5 

the  borders  of  the  swamp.  The  black  tank  that  fed 
the  engines  stood  out  against  the  tender  greens  and 
the  dark  mistletoe  in  the  tree-tops  like  a  tavern  sign. 
Beyond  it  were  the  store  and  cotton-gin,  —  the  road 
between,  —  the  white  line  of  paling  before  the  mer- 
chant's house,  the  cluster  of  home  buildings,  and  the 
green  of  the  live-oaks  about  them. 

The  owner  stood  in  the  store  door.  "  Back  early," 
he  called  to  the  young  man  tramping  the  hot  road. 
"  Good  luck  ?  Lord,  I  should  say  so,"  starting  out  to 
meet  the  fisherman.  "  Look  at  this !  "  handling  the 
bass  wonderingly.  "  Where  did  you  get  him  ?  You 
don't  say  so!  Take  them  around  to  the  house.  Tell 
Jennie  to  have  them  for  supper.  He's  a  buster. 
Better  go  again !  " 

Jenifer  propped  his  fishing-rod  by  the  step,  and 
stood  in  the  sand  before  the  door,  as  if  weighing  the 
fish  in  his  hands. 

Mr.  Gross  looked  at  him  curiously,  but  Jenifer's 
wide  hat  hid  his  face,  all  but  the  chin,  and  that  was 
well  thrust  out. 

"  Mr.  Cross,"  the  young  man  began  hesitantly, 
"  who  owns  that  land  down  along  the  river  ?  Down 
along  where  I  have  been  fishing." 

"Back  of  Wilmot's?" 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Jack  Harrell." 

"  Harrell  ? " 

"  He  does;  and  he  might  as  well  not  have  it.  Better 
off  without  it,  for  it  won't  pay  taxes  !  And  he  —  he's 
got  enough  to  carry  anyhow.  Timber  cut  off  that  land 


6  Jenifer 

long  ago  —  what  was  good  for  anything.  Is  it  growing 
up  again?  Want  to  buy  it?  Nothing  but  hill  and 
swamp  and  clay.  Want  to  buy  it  ?  "  he  repeated  as  if 
it  were  a  huge  jest.  "  Know  anybody  who  does  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jenifer  slowly. 

"  If  you  do,  you  can  tell  them  for  me  that  they'll  be 
taken  in,  sure  pop.  Better  carry  those  fish  around. 
Jennie'll  be  in  the  kitchen  soon." 

Jenifer  had  his  hand  on  the  big  gate  which  opened 
on  the  wide  yard;  inside  of  that  was  a  fancy  paling 
about  a  flower  garden,  with  a  little  green  gate  opening 
on  the  path  to  the  porch.  "  Mr.  Cross,"  he  called 
back,  "  do  you  want  me  right  away  ?  " 

"  No,  you've  got  a  day  off.    Better  take  it  all." 

"  All  right !  "  Jenifer  slammed  the  big  gate  behind 
him,  and  circled  the  house  toward  the  kitchen. 

He  came  out  behind  it,  took  a  path  which  cut  across 
the  field,  and  gained  the  railroad  track,  following  it  to  a 
thicket  of  gallberries  and  cedars.  He  had  not  noticed 
that  the  gray  clouds  were  covering  the  sky  and  the 
thunder  which  shook  the  air  had  rolled  unheeded,  but 
when  he  came  out  in  a  churchyard,  beyond  the  thicket, 
a  sudden  heavy  pattering  struck  the  young  leaves  over- 
head and  in  a  second  a  burst  of  stinging,  lashing  rain 
beat  on  them.  The  wind  tore  and  twisted  the  heavy 
branches  of  the  oaks  and  raged  across  the  level  yard. 

Jenifer  raced  for  the  church  steps.  They  were  un- 
sheltered and  leaf-strewn.  He  shook  at  the  big  folding 
doors,  and  the  old  lock  loosened  under  his  hands.  The 
wide  doors  flew  open.  He  entered,  and  stood  laughing 
as  the  rain  swept  across  the  worn,  unpainted  steps 


Jenifer  7 

and  beat  the  thin  grass,  and  the  big  drops  lay  like 
shot  in  the  sand. 

A  flash  of  lightning  tore  across  the  sky;  the  thunder 
crashed  louder;  the  rain  rushed  in  sheets  across  the 
yard.  What  Jenifer  had  thought  a  spring-time  shower 
was  like  a  summer  storm,  and  he  was  prisoner. 

The  big  room  back  of  him  was  dark  and  dusky, 
the  ceiling  gloomy,  the  windows  narrow,  and  rattling 
in  their  casements.  The  pulpit  towered  high  and 
white  and  solemn.  The  thrill  of  awe  along  the  young 
man's  nerves  was  nonsensical;  he  was  sheltered  and 
safe.  But  it  was  dark.  False  night  was  in  the  church, 
false  dusk  under  the  oaks,  and  a  thunder  of  rain  was  on 
the  steep  roof. 

Jenifer  walked  slowly  up  between  the  bare  pews, 
and  stopped  with  his  hands  on  one.  He  smiled  as  he 
remembered  how  soberly  he  had  last  Sabbath  sat  there. 
Now  he  was  tired.  He  stretched  his  big  limbs  on  the 
bench,  and  in  a  second  he  was  asleep. 

He  slept  but  a  scant  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  so  soundly 
that  it  made  oblivion  between  the  world  he  had  slipped 
from  and  that  to  which  he  awakened.  A  roof  stretched 
high  and  dark  above  his  head.  The  pew-backs  shut 
him  in.  What  was  this  awesome  place?  What  did 
the  dim  distance  hide  ?  A  square  of  light  shone  through, 
and  something  ghostly  seemed  to  flit  from  it  towards 
him.  Nearer  it  came,  some  mystery  materialized  from 
the  borderland;  and  in  that  instant  of  awe  between 
awakening  and  realizing  Jenifer  had  an  insight,  like  a 
flash,  into  the  thing  which  seemed  to  him  natural, 
which  he  had  planned  by  the  river  and  along  the  road, 


8  Jenifer 

and  was  hurrying  to  accomplish  when  the  storm  over- 
took him.  He  saw  it,  not  as  it  would  be  to  legal  eyes, 
but  as  it  was. 

Then  the  ghostly  object  touched  his  nerveless  hand 
and  he  knew  it  to  be  alive,  not  spiritual  essence,  but 
animal  life. 

His  laugh,  with  a  strange  note  in  it,  rang  to  the  rafters ; 
still,  young  though  he  was,  neither  seeing  nor  speculat- 
ing upon  life,  Jenifer  had  stood  for  one  heavy  heart-beat 
in  the  illuminating  light. 

It  faded  instantly.  A  draught  from  the  shallow  well, 
a  dash  of  cold  water  across  his  eyes,  a  long  baring  of 
his  head  to  the  fresh  wind,  and  Jenifer  hurried  on. 
The  scent  of  wet  earth  and  leaves  blew  about  him;  a 
faint  rainbow  was  outlined  upon  the  sky;  and  in  the 
road  a  troop  of  school  children,  kept  housed  by 
the  sudden  storm,  went  merrily  homeward,  tall  girls, 
and  big  boys,  and  a  slip  of  a  girl  for  teacher.  The 
tin  pails  on  their  arms  flashed  the  low  light  towards 
him. 

Across  the  road,  far  down  a  lane,  was  Harrell's 
home.  The  storm  had  broken  over  him  as  he  planted 
cotton  in  the  rows.  The  hour  of  sunlight  left  could 
not  be  wasted,  and  Harrell  was  hurrying  across  the 
furrows  with  a  basket  of  the  round  gray  seeds  hanging 
on  his  arm.  Jenifer,  through  the  thicket  of  sassafras, 
could  see  him  standing  boldly  out  against  the  brown 
earth  and  the  perspective  of  the  wooded  swamp;  and 
he  bit  his  lip  and  flushed  and  laughed  at  thought  of 
what  he,  unseen,  must  see. 

Harrell  had   caught  sight  of  the  troop  in  the  road 


Jenifer  9 

and  strode  to  the  fence  to  intercept  it.  The  girls  ran 
away  giggling,  the  boys  hurried  with  long  sober  steps 
and  half-scornful  faces;  and  the  little  teacher  was  left 
in  a  pretence  of  wonder  opposite  him,  and  alone. 

"  Bess,"  he  called  softly. 

"Oh,  Jack!     Is  that  you?" 

Harrell  laughed.  When  had  he  missed  a  day  from 
seeing  her  somewhere  along  that  road  ?  "  You  are  late 
to-day."  He  leaned  contentedly  against  the  shining 
rails,  as  if  cotton  planting  were  done. 

"  Yes,  the  storm  caught  us." 

"  Were  you  scared  ?  "  he  teased. 

Bess  stood  poised  as  if  for  a  run.  She  could  have 
beaten  every  girl  who  loitered  slowly  along  the  sandy 
way,  had  they  raced  her  to  the  pines  which  shadowed 
the  road  where  the  boys  went  slowly. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  won't  speak  to  me,"  the  man 
coaxed. 

"  I  ?  " 

"  You,  there  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  I  haven't 
seen  you  before  to-day." 

"  No."  She  stole  a  glance  at  him  around  the  corner 
of  her  big  sunbonnet. 

"  I  am  coming  over  there."  Harrell  put  his  hands 
on  the  fence  as  if  to  spring  over.  "  I  am  going  to  walk 
home  with  you." 

"  No,  no ;  you  must  not."  In  her  earnestness  Bess 
came  close  up  to  the  fence. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't."  But  Harrell  was 
satisfied.  He  had  made  the  threat  only  to  bring  her 


IO  Jenifer 

"  School  will  soon  be  over,"  he  said  tentatively. 
"  Are  you  glad  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  with  a  shy  look  up  at  him.  Her  lashes 
were  long  and  her  eyes  which  should  have  been  brown, 
in  keeping  with  her  coloring,  were  blue.  Her  cheeks, 
with  the  tint  of  that  bonnet  upon  them,  were  pink  as  a 
wild  rose.  "  You  see  the  hot  weather  is  coming  on, 
and  the  thunder-storms.  They  scare  me  almost  to 
death,"  she  admitted. 

"  This  one  was  not  so  bad,"  declared  Harrell  lightly. 
He  was  thinking  how  hard  it  was  to  see  her  face  and 
longing  to  untie  the  starched  strings  beneath  her  chin 
and  touch  her  warm  cheek  with  his  hand. 

"  But  you  never  know  what  the  next  one  is  going  to 
be  like,  once  they  have  begun." 

"  How  is  your  mother  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Just  the  same.  She  was  walking  about  a  little 
when  I  left  to-day."  Harrell  had  broken  the  spell  of 
the  happy  moment.  "  I  must  hurry.  The  girls  are 
waiting.  It  is  getting  late."  The  little  hand  that  had 
rested  for  a  moment  on  the  rail  moved  nervously. 

Harrell  stooped  to  break  a  branch  of  spicewood  that 
grew  close  by  the  fence.  His  hat  fairly  brushed  her 
hand  as  he  leaned,  and  when  he  straightened  again 
his  lips  had  touched  it  warmly  and  tenderly;  and  the 
girl's  face  was  redder  than  the  wild  rose  ever  blooms. 
She  was  half-way  across  the  road  before  he  could  speak. 

"  Good-by,"  he  called. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Bess  faintly;  but  the  tunnel  of  her 
bonnet  was  toward  him. 

Jenifer  waited  till  the  pines  hid  her  and  the  laughing 


Jenifer  n 

girls  —  the  boys  were  far  ahead  —  and  when  he  came 
up  with  Harrell  the  farmer's  back  was  toward  him. 
The  basket  of  seeds  was  at  Harrell's  feet,  the  spicewood 
still  in  his  hand,  and  he  was  looking  at  it,  smiling. 

"  Hello,  Harrell !  " 

There  was  no  friendly  flash  in  Harrell's  eyes  as  he 
turned.  He  felt  himself  spied  upon.  "  Well,  Jenifer," 
he  said  carelessly. 

"  Planting  cotton  ?  "  anything  to  cover  up  the  awkward 
moment. 

Harrell  picked  up  the  basket  and  began  sorting  the 
seeds  between  his  fingers.  "  Yes." 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you  a  moment,"  stammered  Jenifer, 
keeping  pace  with  the  farmer  down  the  row. 

"  Anything  special  ?  "     Harrell  straightened. 

"Well,  yes;  I  suppose  so.  You  have  got  a  good 
deal  of  land  about  here." 

"  More  than  I  can  manage  by  myself;  and  hands 
are  not  to  be  hired." 

"  And  some  down  by  the  river.  Want  to  sell  any  of 
it  ? " 

"  Which  ? " 

"  How  about  that  down  on  the  river  ?  " 

Harrell  stood  gazing  at  him  with  something  of  the 
same  searching  look  Mr.  Cross  had  given.  "  It's 
worth  nothing,"  he  said  shortly,  "  nothing  at  all." 

"  What  will  you  take  for  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  a  hundred  acres,  maybe  more.  If  it's 
worth  anything  it's  worth  five  hundred  dollars."  Har- 
rell was  impatient  with  what  he  thought  foolery.  He 
dropped  the  seeds  into  the  hill  by  his  side,  shovelled 


12  Jenifer 

the  earth  above  them  with  his  foot,  and  went  on  with 
his  planting. 

Five  hundred  dollars !  Jenifer  had  just  that  sum. 
It  was  locked  in  Mr.  Cross's  safe;  and  it  was  what  the 
clerk  had  earned,  barring  the  expenses  of  his  clothes, 
behind  those  counters.  Last  year  his  employer  had 
made  money  in  cotton  bales,  buying  them  up  through 
the  county,  stacking  them  under  the  live-oaks  in  his 
yard,  and  selling  them  as  the  market  jumped.  Jenifer 
had  intended  to  do  with  his  small  sum  what  Mr.  Cross 
had  done  with  more.  He  had  even  played  the  game 
in  fancy. 

The  telephone  from  that  quiet  corner  in  the  gin 
stretched  across  to  a  market  of  the  world;  but  the 
machines  were  new,  following  only  the  railroad,  and 
there  were  few  in  the  county.  The  knowledge  they 
brought  could  be  used  for  gain.  This  argument  flashed 
through  Jenifer's  mind  while  he  broke  a  clod  beneath 
his  heel;  yet  he  was  capable  of  instant  reply. 

"  Very  well,  I  will  take  it." 

"  You !  "  Harrell  whirled  around.  "  What's  come 
over  you  ? " 

"  Nothing."    Jenifer's  boyish  face  was  imperturbable. 

"  Lord  knows  I  want  the  money  bad  enough,  but  I 
don't  want  to  sell,"  added  Harrell  inconsistently. 

"  Well,"  said  Jenifer  calmly,  "  I  have  the  money, 
and  I  want  the  land.  If  you  will  come  up  to  the  store 
we  can  draw  up  the  papers,  and  I  will  pay  you." 

Harrell  whistled  under  his  breath.  "  I'll  see  about 
it,"  he  promised  at  last,  "  and  come  up  and  let  you 
know." 


Jenifer  13 

"  To-night  ? " 

"  No,  to-morrow."  He  would  look  over  the  land 
again  to  see  if  there  was  anything  in  it;  if  not  — 

"  Good  night,"  called  Jenifer. 

"  Good  night." 

Jenifer  went  whistling  homeward.  The  moon  hung 
above  the  cypress  swamp;  the  west  was  red;  the  sand 
wet  and  hard  underfoot;  the  air  cool:  and  there  was  a 
possibility  in  Jenifer's  mind  which  dazzled  him. 

When  he  walked  into  the  store  a  schoolboy  who  had 
been  bidden  to  make  a  purchase  lingered  there.  His 
books  were  on  the  counter.  Jenifer,  hiding  his  exuber- 
ance, opened  one  of  them  with  a  nervous  hand.  It 
was  a  geography,  thick  leaved,  big  printed,  and  well 
thumbed. 

"  Mr.  Cross,"  called  the  young  man  gaily,  "  I  bet 
you  have  forgotten  every  bit  of  geography  you  ever 
knew." 

"  The  idea  !  "  his  employer  flashed. 

Jenifer  turned  the  pages  quickly.  "  What  zone  do 
you  live  in  ?  " 

"  Temperate."  Mr.  Cross  straightened  his  tall 
figure  by  the  doorway. 

"  North  or  south  ?  "  Jenifer  pressed  him. 

"  South,  sir;  of  course.  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?  " 
shouted  this  warm  partisan,  and  for  a  second  he  won- 
dered why  his  clerk  doubled  with  laughter  by  the  counter. 


II 

JENIFER'S  money  was  in  Harrell's  pockets;  the  deed 
to  Han-ell's  river  land  lay  in  the  squat  black  safe  where 
the  slow-mounting  greenbacks  had  been  hid;  and  a 
daily  train,  which  wound  its  way  northward,  had  carried 
with  its  other  freight  a  wooden  box,  small  but  heavy. 

Jenifer  waited.  The  days  slipped  by  with  a  beauty 
which  sickened  him.  The  mistletoe  was  hidden  in  the 
tree-tops;  the  cypress  trailed  its  green  to  touch  the  river; 
gum  and  poplar  bowered  the  tank  beside  the  glistening 
rails,  and  the  poplar  had  flowered.  Still,  never,  as  the 
train  came  down  across  the  field,  where  the  cotton 
showed  its  leaves,  was  there  packet  or  letter  for  the 
young  man,  whose  face  lost  its  boyish  roundness  in 
that  waiting. 

When  the  hiss  of  the  freed  steam  filled  the  air  and 
the  thud  of  the  pumping  was  like  a  steady  beat  upon 
the  heavy  atmosphere,  he  stood  daily,  talking,  perhaps, 
with  the  conductor  and  looking  at  the  few  faces  against 
the  dusty  window-frames  or  swinging  his  feet  from  the 
door  of  the  baggage-car  and  eyeing  the  lean  mail-sacks 
by  his  hand,  feeling  that  he  could  grasp  the  coach 
and  shake  it  from  end  to  end  in  his  mad  impatience, 
or  rip  the  sacks  with  fierce  gashes  and  scatter  every 
packet  in  fern  and  weed  and  oozy  mud,  but  to  grasp 
the  one  he  looked  for. 

14 


Jenifer  15 

Watching  the  gray-striped  bags  and  tarnished  metal, 
he  took  to  riding  across  the  shadowed  trestle  and  around 
the  sandy  curve  to  the  cross-roads,  the  station,  and 
the  post-office,  where  one  had  the  right  to  unclasp  the 
locks  and  handle  with  careless  touch  those  frail 
things  which  meant  so  much :  and  never  one  of  them  for 
him. 

Then  he  grew  tired  of  it.  Any  one  who  wished  might 
bring  the  mail.  The  man  to  whom  he  had  written  had 
cared  too  little  even  to  answer  him;  and  Jenifer  set 
his  teeth,  and  wondered  how  now  he  should  start  to 
better  his  fortunes,  as  he  had  vowed  he  would  do. 
That  dream  of  cotton  speculation  had  been  his  only 
other  plan;  and  the  money  with  which  he  could  have 
speculated  was  gone. 

Back  there,  in  the  State  from  which  Jenifer  had  come, 
a  man  with  money  in  his  hand  had  founded  a  school 
where  any  boy  who  lacked  the  means  to  gain  it  else- 
where could  find  an  education.  The  lad's  need  should 
be  his  only  plea.  Even  such  as  Jenifer,  who  boasted 
no  lineage  and  knew  no  kin,  were  welcomed.  From 
the  knowledge  gained  in  his  primer  lessons  of  the  labora- 
tory Jenifer  had  made  his  guess;  and  to  the  chemist, 
whose  seeming  magic  he  had  watched,  the  package 
had  been  sent;  but  there  had  been  from  the  professor 
only  silence. 

Jenifer  told  himself  that  he  had  been  forgotten  as 
soon  as  the  door  of  the  school  closed  behind  him.  Be- 
fore he,  homesick  for  the  shouting  boys  and  friendly 
men,  had  found  the  means  to  earn  his  bread  and  grown 
frightened  in  the  city  market-place  for  labor;  before, 


16  Jenifer 

by  happy  chance,  he  had  fallen  in  with  the  merchant, 
a  visitor  to  the  city,  who  needed  a  clerk  for  his  country 
store  and  fancied  the  boy's  earnest  face  and  still  tongue 
and  length  of  limb  and  air  of  strength;  before  he,  the 
graduate,  had  found  a  home,  the  school  had  forgotten 
him. 

The  thought  was  bitter.  The  friendliness  of  his 
schoolfellows  was  the  best  Jenifer  had  known.  His 
mother  had  died  before  he  had  knowledge  of  her;  his 
father  was  scarce  a  remembrance;  and  the  school  had 
been  his  brightest  memory. 

At  last,  when  many  a  day  the  train  had  gone  un- 
noticed through  the  trees  and  over  the  narrow  river, 
on  a  slumberous  afternoon,  after  the  curl  of  smoke 
above  the  cypresses  had  floated  long  away,  Jenifer  came 
from  the  counting-room  at  the  sound  of  a  shout  in  the 
dim  cool  store. 

The  room  was  deserted,  but  he  heard  the  patter  of  a 
boy's  bare  feet  across  the  step. 

"  Jim,  Jim,"  Jenifer  called  from  the  door,  as  the 
negro  opened  the  yard  gate,  "  what  do  you  want  ? " 

"  Lettah  fer  you;  on  de  countah." 

He  leaped  for  it.  Before  he  caught  it  up  he  saw  the 
black  typing  of  the  school's  address  in  the  corner.  It 
had  come.  He  held  it.  But  it  would  tell  him  he  was 
a  fool  for  his  pains.  He  stood  with  the  letter  in  his 
hands,  and  the  cold  sweat  was  on  his  forehead.  Then, 
in  a  second,  he  had  torn  off  the  cover,  whirled  out  the 
leaves,  seized  the  meaning  from  them,  and  was  dancing, 
as  if  mad,  from  end  to  end  of  the  huge  high  room. 

"Kaolin,"   he   shouted.     "Kaolin,   kaolin!"     And 


Jenifer  17 

then  more  soberly  and  under  his  breath,  "  I  knew  it, 
I  knew  it." 

The  dusky  place  was  not  big  enough  for  that  flood  of 
rapture;  all  the  world  in  sight  could  scarce  afford  space. 
So  still  it  was  that  at  the  counting-room  door  the  fowls 
scratched  and  clucked  and  peered  with  sidewise  glances 
into  the  room.  The  road  was  deserted.  Besides,  the 
clerk  could  watch  from  across  the  way.  Jenifer  was 
out,  beneath  the  sky;  and  in  the  cool  shadow  of  the 
closed  gin  he  spread  the  stiff  pages  and  read  and  weighed 
each  word. 

Had  that  biscuit-colored  ball  been  the  apple  of  Hes- 
perides  the  magic  were  not  more  certain. 

The  package  had  reached  the  school  when  the  pro- 
fessor was  ill  and  it  had  lain  long  in  the  laboratory. 
Analysis  had  proven  the  stuff  to  be  of  the  highest  value 
and  —  so  strange  are  the  crossings  of  fate  —  the  chemist, 
well-known  for  his  research  into  the  native  values  of 
his  State,  had  that  month  received  a  letter  from  a  great 
pottery  of  the  West  asking  if  he  had  knowledge  of  kaolin 
deposits.  The  professor  added  that  he  could  arrange 
the  sale  of  it,  if  Jenifer  so  desired,  and  the  letter  ended 
with  personalities. 

The  country  about  the  store  and  gin  and  house  had 
its  share  of  canvassers,  —  strange  men  beginning  to 
wonder  if  this  unknown  corner  might  have  its  useful- 
ness, prospective  buyers  of  cheap  lands  which  might  be 
turned  to  profit,  hunters  of  lumber,  crop  speculators, 
sellers  of  fertilizers,  chance  peddlers,  —  so  that  it  caused 
no  surprise  when  a  stranger  hung  about  the  cross-roads 
village  for  a  day  or  two. 


i8  Jenifer 

The  astonishment  began  later  with  Mr.  Cross. 

"  Mr.  Cross,"  asked  Jenifer,  when  the  stranger  had 
been  gone  a  month,  and  the  idle  season  of  the  store  had 
come,  "  you  said  you  wanted  to  give  me  some  time  off 
this  summer?" 

Mr.  Cross's  chair  was  tilted  back  against  the  counter 
and  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes.  He  seemed  half- asleep, 
but  in  fact  he  was  calculating  intently  some  crop  figures 
he  had  received  that  morning. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  lazily.  "  Yes,  I  do.  You've  been 
looking  peaked  lately,  Jenifer;  don't  you  feel  well?  " 

"  Never  felt  better." 

"  Well,  want  it  now  ?  " 

"  I  —  I  think  so." 

A  furrow  of  perplexity  had  beaten  itself  between 
Jenifer's  brows.  He  was  face  to  face  with  problems 
too  great  for  him,  and  he  had  no  intimates.  The  county, 
with  its  tangles  of  intermarriages  and  associations, 
assimilated  new  life  slowly.  Jenifer  was  still  on  trial 
before  it;  and  his  employer's  good-will,  which  was 
genuine,  showed  itself  chiefly  in  his  chaffing. 

Lately  Mr.  Cross  had  begun  to  wonder  at  Jenifer's 
abstraction  and  the  perplexity  which  showed  itself  in 
the  boy's  face. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  not  sure,  neither  am  I,"  he  said 
good-naturedly. 

"  I  should  like  to  get  off  for  a  little  while,"  Jenifer 
admitted  hesitantly. 

"  Now's  your  time.    When  do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  Next  week." 

"  All  right." 


Jenifer  19 

"  Mr.  Cross,  could  you  spare  me  if  —  would  it  matter 
if  I  did  not  come  back  ?  " 

"  Name  of  wonder,  Jenifer  "  —  Mr.  Cross  brought 
his  chair  down  straight  — "  what  are  you  talking 
about  ?  " 

Jenifer  fought  the  temptation  to  say  "  I  don't  know." 
There  was  not  a  stealthy  streak  in  him.  This  thing 
had  been  done  in  secret  because  he  feared  he  was  playing 
the  fool,  and  if  he  did  his  loss  was  sufficient  penalty 
without  the  incessant  chaffing  about  it  which  would 
last  as  long  as  he  should  live  there.  He  knew  too  well 
the  tenacity  with  which  the  store  loungers  held  to  their 
old  jests,  and  he  had  seen  too  often  the  gray-headed 
man  redden  at  the  telling  of  a  boyish  prank.  So  he  had 
dared  for  himself,  with  the  knowledge  of  none  about 
him. 

Now  he  came  out  from  the  counter  and  thrust  his 
hands  deep  into  his  pockets.  It  was  past  the  noon, 
and  blazing  hot.  There  would  be  no  customers  before 
the  cool  of  the  evening  and  there  was  no  chance  that 
they  would  be  disturbed. 

"  Mr.  Cross,"  he  began,  "  you  know  that  land  I 
bought  from  Jack  Harrell  ?  " 

Mr.  Cross  was  watching  him.  With  the  roundness 
worn  from  Jenifer's  face  the  line  of  his  cheek  was  long, 
the  thrust  of  his  chin  more  aggressive;  and  the  look 
in  his  eyes  was  no  longer  careless. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  older  man  shortly,  as  he  puzzled. 
"  But  what  you  want  with  it  the  Lord  only  knows." 

"  I  have  sold  it." 

"  What !  "  in  open  astonishment.     "  I  didn't  know 


20  Jenifer 

you  had  so  much  sense."  But  the  tone  was  kindly. 
"  What  did  you  get  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  quite  closed  the  deal  yet."  Jenifer  used 
the  term  smoothly  enough  to  show  how  often  it  had 
been  in  his  mind. 

"  How  much  have  you  been  offered  ?  " 

"  Two  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

"  You  lie."  Mr.  Cross  sprang  to  his  feet.  He  gripped 
Jenifer's  shoulder. 

"  No,"  Jenifer's  glance  showed  a  gleam  of  amuse- 
ment, "  no,  I  do  not." 

"  Come  over  here  by  the  door,"  holding  him  where 
the  blaze  of  the  sun  beat  on  them  both.  "  What  did 
you  find  on  it  ? "  instantly  divining  the  cause  of  such 
value. 

"  It's  too  hot  here.  Sit  down  again.  I  want  to  tell 
you." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  Mr.  Cross  insisted  peremptorily. 
"  Lord,"  he  interjaculated  between  Jenifer's  quick 
sentences.  "  Those  old  sloughs !  I  never  dreamed  of 
them.  What  fools  we  have  been.  And  you —  Goon." 
Mr.  Cross  clenched  his  hands  behind  him.  His  eyes 
blazed.  He  strode  up  and  down  the  worn  floor  of  the 
store. 

Jenifer  leaned  against  the  counter.  His  face  was 
blanched,  but  his  speech  was  deliberate;  and  he  told 
every  circumstance,  Mr.  Cross's  ejaculations  breaking 
in  upon  his  words. 

The  employer  was  a  man  who  believed  unfalteringly 
in  his  State.  With  keen  business  instincts  he  had  been 
content  to  pick  up  the  threads  his  own  father  had  left 


Jenifer  21 

with  loose  and  flying  ends,  and  to  weave  them  into  a 
fortune.  His  cotton-fields  had  prospered  when  his 
neighbors  vowed  they  could  meet  neither  meat  nor 
fertilizer  bill.  He  was  trying  a  new  venture  of  peanut 
cultivation  in  his  light  fields,  and  succeeding  with  it. 
His  gin  supplied  the  needs  of  the  neighborhood  —  and 
his  own  pockets.  His  store  brought  moderate  returns. 
His  speculations  were  generally  safe.  He  was  in  touch 
with  every  experiment  in  the  State,  and  one  of  the 
staunchest  upholders  in  her  possibilities.  Here  was 
an  object-lesson,  and  with  a  vengeance. 

The  boy  brought  by  him  to  their  county  had  laid 
hands  upon  their  unguessed  treasure.  Still,  he  was 
great  enough,  and  just  and  kind  enough,  to  see  Jenifer's 
side,  to  listen,  encourage,  and  advise. 

"  I  tell  you,  Jenifer,"  he  ended,  "  they  sha'n't  do  you. 
Say  you  are  going  to  meet  the  agent  in  Norfolk  this 
week  ?  Well,  I'm  going  up  too.  No,  don't  thank  me. 
You  have  done  your  work  here,  and  done  it  well.  And 
I  hoped  —  I  thought  you  were  going  to  settle  down 
amongst  us. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  this  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  No,  not  till  it  is  put  through,  till  the  thing  is  finished." 

"  I  see.  But  —  "  the  older  man  began  to  question, 
the  younger  to  answer.  Again  they  went  over  the  matter 
in  every  detail.  Mr.  Gross  stood  motionless  in  the 
door  when  the  story  was  finished. 

There  was  the  hot  sandy  road,  there  the  gin  —  its 
doors  closed  till  the  new  crops  should  fill  it;  and  the 
heavy  greenness  of  summer  was  on  the  swamp.  The 
man  went  back  over  his  hard  fight  and  toil,  and  weighed 


22  Jenifer 

what  he  had  won.  So  some  men  measure  lives,  counting 
neither  joy  of  living,  nor  guerdon  of  dawn  and  light  of 
stars  and  summer's  ecstasy  and  winter's  night,  neither 
the  rapture  of  love,  nor  the  bliss  of  hope  fulfilled,  — 
nothing  but  the  sum  of  their  possessions.  Only  in  finer 
moments,  and  few,  do  they  grasp  the  breadth,  the 
height,  the  depth  of  that  full  life  which  is  every  man's 
meed. 

Still,  this  man  was  generous  enough  to  feel  no  envy, 
even  when  he  measured  by  such  standards.  "  Tell 
you  what,  Jenifer,"  he  advised,  speaking  slowly,  "  such 
things  will  leak  out  somehow;  wonder  this  hasn't  done 
so  already;  and — and  it's  hard  on  Jack,"  he  said 
suddenly,  with  a  keen  look  at  Jenifer.  But  the  young 
man  did  not  see  it.  He  was  too  bewildered  with  the 
whirl  of  thought  and  a  guess  at  what  lay  before  him. 
"  I  can  spare  you.  You  had  better  go  right  along. 
What  day  are  you  to  be  there  ?  Tuesday  ?  And  this  is 
Friday.  Better  go  right  up;  and  I  will  meet  you  there. 
Yes,  I  am  going  to  see  this  thing  through.  Can  you 
catch  the  train  ?  All  right." 

Since  the  cars  had  brought  Jenifer  down  he  had  been 
no  further  on  them  than  around  to  the  little  post-office. 
The  cotton  had  been  white  with  bursting  pods  when 
he  came.  He  looked  at  it  from  the  narrow  window  of 
the  coach,  and  it  looked  now  like  row  upon  row  of 
gay  colored  hollyhocks.  Behind  him  the  gray  clustered 
buildings,  the  liveoak  tops,  and  the  green  swamp  slid 
from  sight. 

The  rest  was  so  easy  it  seemed  impossible. 

There  came  a  day  when  Jenifer  sat  on  a  wharf  of 


Jenifer  23 

the  city  and  wondered  what  he  should  do  with  him- 
self. 

A  bank  had  always  been,  in  his  mind,  a  place  where 
money  grows,  and  he  had  handed  his  check  through  a 
bank  window  with  an  absolute  faith  in  the  safety  of 
such  planting,  a  trust  which  was  not  betrayed.  When 
he  thought  of  it  at  all  he  felt  a  happy  consciousness  of 
the  fruitage  which  would  grow  upon  it;  but  the  sum  of 
his  feelings  was  a  sense  of  liberty. 

He  was  free !  That  strife  for  daily  bread,  that  struggle 
for  the  beginnings  of  prosperity,  that  wonder  as  to  his 
ability  to  earn  such,  which  every  man  must  feel,  was 
done  away  with.  Jenifer  could  do  as  he  chose. 

In  his  heart  was  bursting  into  bloom  the  dream 
which  had  fed  his  fancy  when  the  teacher's  pointer 
trailed  across  the  map,  and  the  strange  sounding  names 
of  distant  lands  and  vast  seas  and  old  cities  broke  on 
the  drowsy  air.  That  growing  fancy  made  the  fascina- 
tion of  the  wharves. 

For  the  city,  with  its  hot  streets  and  close  cafes  and 
crowded  counters,  he  cared  not  at  all;  but  the  wide 
water  with  its  far  shore  of  hazy  blue,  the  bending  of 
white  sails  to  the  breeze,  the  ruffle  of  wind  upon  the 
mighty  river!  And  the  cotton  bales  piled  behind  him, 
the  stretches  of  peanut  sacks  roof  high,  the  smell  of 
resin,  and  of  the  sea ! 

Sitting  thus,  his  soft  hat  low  over  his  shining  eyes 
and  his  idle  feet  dangling  above  the  lapping  tide,  the 
sail  of  a  ship  slid  close  beside  him.  Jenifer  looked  up 
and  laughed  at  the  quizzical  glances  of  the  men  upon 
the  deck  and  at  the  sails  which  flapped  above  him. 


24  Jenifer 

"  Hi,  there,"  a  sailor  shouted.  "  Look  out  1  Get 
to  work !  "  as  he  flung  a  coil  of  rope  upon  the  wharf. 
"  Make  fast !  "  The  sails  were  rattling  upon  the  deck. 

"  Say,  what  are  you  doing  there  anyhow  ?  "  called 
another  as  he  worked.  "  Look  lazy  enough !  " 

Jenifer  answered  in  kind.  He  had  flung  the  coil 
about  the  pile,  and  the  coastwise  ship  scraped  against 
the  heavy  wharf.  He  stood  erect  and  strong,  his  hands 
upon  his  straight  hips,  and  called  back  to  them,  and 
the  captain,  with  a  careless  measurement  of  the  young 
man's  good-nature  and  his  idleness,  flung  out  a  jest. 

"  Want  to  go  along  ?  "  he  asked  as  he  sprang  ashore. 

"Where?" 

"  Lord  only  knows.    Charleston  first ;  then  anywhere." 

"  When  do  you  sail  ?  " 

"  To-day.     Going  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  with  Jenifer's  aptitude  for  instant  decision. 

The  captain  began  a  more  careful  category.  It  was 
a  small  ship  and  built  for  work.  No  passenger  had  ever 
bunked  in  her  narrow  cabin.  Yet  the  impulse  which 
had  prompted  her  owner  impelled  an  easy  arrangement 
with  Jenifer.  When  the  ship  slipped  out  between  the 
capes  he  stood  upon  her  deck. 

By  daybreak  the  land  was  a  blur  behind  them;  and 
before  him  the  blue,  with  that  deep  line  of  sapphire 
swinging  on  its  far  curve,  that  line  which  bewitches 
and  promises  and  beckons,  pressing  into  its  service 
even  the  waves  as  they  run  singing  by  the  ship  and 
setting  them  to  whisper :  "  Over,  beyond ;  over,  beyond." 

Far  they  pursued  it.  Often  it  was  hidden.  Long 
lines  of  sandy  reefs,  where  the  wind  tossed  the  dunes 


Jenifer  2^ 

into  fantastic  shapes,  cut  between  them  and  that  sap- 
phire sorcerer;  wooded  banks  of  deep  rivers  shut  them 
in;  islands  where  the  palms  cast  stiff  shadows  lay  be- 
tween them  and  that  witching  blue;  but  ever,  when  the 
ship  was  free  of  them,  there  it  swung,  and  they  pursued. 
When  Jenifer  landed  again  in  Norfolk  he  had  been 
gone  two  years. 


Ill 

HE  was  sunburned  and  sinewy.  All  his  roundness 
had  been  burned  and  worked  away.  His  gray  eyes 
were  both  keen  and  dreamy;  his  black  hair  was  reddened 
beneath  his  cap. 

It  took  some  trouble  to  prove  his  identity  at  the 
bank,  and  he  found  that  his  money  tree  had  borne  him 
harvest.  His  royalties  —  they  were  Mr.  Cross's  pro- 
vision —  had  come  in  slowly  the  first  year,  better  and 
faster  every  month  of  the  next,  and  they  told  the  success 
of  the  unequalled  find.  But  Jenifer  had  no  desire  to 
go  clanking  down  the  half  hundred  miles  which  lay 
between  to  see  how  curiously  the  new  rough  laid  line  — 
private  property  of  the  company,  switching  on,  by 
rights  for  which  it  paid  dearly,  to  the  old  rails  across 
the  cotton-fields  —  cut  into  the  heart  of  the  silent  woods. 

It  seemed  to  him  shut  away  forever.  The  other  part 
of  his  life  was  not  yet  begun  and  the  zest  of  it  was  eating 
into  his  heart. 

No  branch  of  that  tree  whose  roots  were  in  the  bank's 
vaults  must  be  broken;  but  its  fruit  could  be  gathered 
freely,  and  with  that  in  his  pockets  Jenifer  turned 
northwards. 

The  South  admits  three  capitals,  —  Richmond,  of 
the  finest  country  beneath  the  flag,  New  York,  of  the 
26 


Jenifer  27 

entire  Americas,  Paris,  of  the  world.  But  Jenifer  had 
been  bred  apart.  He  knew  no  affiliations.  His  mind 
turned  to  the  nearest  city;  and  in  less  than  a  month  he 
was  in  Baltimore. 

He  reached  the  city  at  Ghristmas  time.  Those 
months  of  slipping  along  the  edges  of  the  world  had 
intensified  every  aptitude  for  delight,  and  his  ease  of 
mind,  the  freedom  of  his  outlook,  the  newness  and 
freshness  of  the  world  he  fell  upon  made  him  forget 
his  alien  estate. 

The  misty  mornings  when  the  shop  lights  shone  out 
into  the  fog;  the  heaps  of  holly  at  the  corners  of  the 
streets;  the  fakirs  who  lined  the  curbs;  the  venders  of 
crinkly  strands  of  silver  and  gold  to  trail  upon  the 
Christmas  tree;  the  slow  moving  of  close  pressed 
figures,  like  swaying  sombre  flowers ;  —  these  Jenifer 
saw. 

He  filled  his  pockets  with  toffee  at  the  market  stalls. 
He  treated  the  beggars  up  and  down  the  street.  He 
bought  till  the  fakirs  hailed  his  tall  figure,  his  leisurely 
look,  and  his  kindly  eyes  across  the  crowd.  He  had 
no  knowledge  of  fees  or  tips,  but  at  the  hotel,  a  square 
or  two  away,  bell-boys  and  waiters  were  keen  to  wait 
upon  him.  They  kept,  all  of  them,  hoards  of  trifles 
which  they  could  freely  give  on  that  day  which  offsets 
the  sway  of  winter.  They  never  knew  what  was  coming 
out  of  Jenifer's  pockets,  nor  on  whom  it  might  be  be- 
stowed. Half-way  up  the  corridor  to  his  room  the 
young  man's  store  was  usually  depleted. 

The  days  were  shorter.  Longer  were  the  morning 
fogs  and  earlier  in  the  evening  they  drifted  through 


a8  Jenifer 

the  ways,  hiding  the  tall  cornices  and  massing  the 
corners  of  the  streets.  The  light  showed  pale  and 
golden  through  the- mists.  The  holly  was  piled  higher. 
The  fakirs  strung  down  the  narrow  street  and  far  along 
its  crossings.  The  market  was  ablaze,  its  corners 
piled  with  cedar,  spruce,  and  pine.  It  was  Christmas 
eve;  and  Jenifer,  abroad,  lived  a  strange  night. 

"  Goin'  out,  sah  ? "  asked  the  waiter,  as  Jenifer 
pushed  back  his  chair.  '  '  Deed  you  bettah  had. 
Times  hyar  in  de  street  dis  night.  Lawd-ee,  you  nebbah 
seen  nothin'  like  'em.  Dat's  a  fac'.  Git  yo'se'f  a  bell, 
sah,  an'  a  horn  good  and  strong;  an'  de  bell  mus'  be  a 
cowbell  wid  a  string." 

"  What  in  the  name  of  mischief  would  I  do  with 
them  ?  " 

"  You'll  see,  sah."  Ben's  mouth  was  one  wide  grin. 
"  You'll  1'arn  soon  ernough.  You  ain't  gwine  stay  in 
ter-night  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously.  The  negro  had  been 
waiting  on  Jenifer,  attaching  himself  to  the  young  man 
more  and  more  since  the  day  he  entered  the  house; 
and  Ben  had  his  own  good  reasons  for  doing  so.  "  You 
ain't  gwine  stay  in  ? "  he  repeated. 

"  I  certainly  shall  not." 

"  Den  you  bettah  git  raidy  good.  Ise  gwine  be  on 
han*  myse'f,"  he  chuckled. 

Jenifer  stood  with  his  hand  on  his  chair.  He  had 
come  in  late  —  he  could  never  bear  the  crowd  and 
clatter  at  its  height  —  and  the  room  was  nearly  empty. 
In  this  corner,  which  he  had  first  chosen,  there  was  no 
one  near  him  and  the  friendly  negro. 

"  Boss,"  Ben  cautioned,  "  ef  you  ain't  done  heard 


Jenifer  29 

nothin'  'bout  ter-night,  an'  you  aint  nebbah  been  hyar 
befo'  —  " 

Jenifer's  "  Never  was  here  a  day  before  in  my  life," 
was  a  trifle  curt. 

"  Den  you  do  as  I  tells  you.  You  goes  to  the  theatre. 
Wish  I  could  go  myse'f.  Thank  you,  sah;  thank  you. 
Chris'mas  gif  sho  ernough.  Ise  gwine  now  sutten. 
You  puts  a  bell  in  yo'  pocket  —  " 

"  I'm  no  cow,"  Jenifer  interjected.  He  was  both 
amused  and  impatient. 

"  Lawd-ee.  De  cowbell's  what  you  want  though. 
An'-" 

"  Go  along;  attend  to  your  work,"  warned  Jenifer 
good-naturedly. 

"  Well,  you  go  to  the  theatre  first,"  Ben  followed  to 
say.  "  De  fun  don't  begin  till  'long  'bout  de  time  de 
show  lets  out.  An'  you'll  see,  or  my  name's  not 
Ben,"  the  negro  chattered.  But  Jenifer  was  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Lawd,"  said  the  negro  as  he  piled  the  dishes,  "  it 
does  me  good  to  see  him  eat.  No  foolin'  wid  de  vittles 
an*  mixin'  'em  up  an'  callin'  for  outlandish  things; 
but  jes  like  he's  hongry,  an'  de  things  tas'e  good.  Ise 
gwine  look  fer  him  on  de  street  sho',  an*  he'll  be  dyar. 
Den  he'll  see." 

Jenifer,  coming  down  the  theatre  steps,  found  himself 
in  a  sea  of  people  and  going  with  the  tide.  So  closely 
they  pressed  that  the  plume  of  a  woman's  hat  brushed 
his  cheek,  and  as  far  as  he  could  see  under  the  lamp- 
posts and  by  the  arc  lights  which  crisscrossed  their 
white  beams  across  the  way,  the  human  wave  spread. 


3O  Jenifer 

Onward  to  the  corner  it  bore  him,  and  down  the  street 
where  carnival  reigned  from  curb  to  curb. 

The  cars  were  jammed  helplessly  back  on  the  cross 
streets;  and  down  the  bed  of  the  thoroughfare,  with 
bells  clanging  against  the  cobbles,  with  blaring  horns, 
and  balls  and  candies  tossed  from  hand  to  hand,  surged 
the  throng,  till  it  came  to  a  far  intersecting  street,  where 
suddenly  were  silence  and  emptiness  and  long  lines  of 
light  upon  deserted  ways. 

Back  again,  through  press  and  furious  fun,  to  the 
market  sheds.  Bands  joined  forces;  friends  fell  in  be- 
hind those  they  knew;  strangers  banded  together  for 
the  fray;  and  Jenifer  was  in  the  thick  of  it. 

"  You  got  dat  bell  ?  "  Ben  shouted  as  he  passed. 
The  horn  at  his  own  black  lips  was  like  a  megaphone. 
"  An'  dat  horn  ?  Lawd-ee,  keep  erway  from  hyar." 
Jenifer  had  blown  a  blast  in  the  negro's  ear,  and  he 
showered  Ben  with  tinsel  till  the  negro's  shoulders 
glittered  like  a  Christmas  bush.  "  I'll  gib  you  a  tas'e 
o*  dis  ef  you  don't,  an'  de  Lawd  knows  dis  will  blow 
yo'  hat  clean  off  yo'  haid,  an'  yo'  hair  'long  wid  it." 

But  the  crowd  had  parted  them.  Ben  was  jammed 
against  a  store  window;  Jenifer  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  street. 

"  Hi,  dyar,  jes  look  at  dat,"  Ben  chuckled  when 
next  they  met.  A  girl  had  slipped  on  some  of  the  stuff 
with  which  the  street  was  strewn,  and  Jenifer  caught 
her  with  his  arm. 

She  was  a  pretty  girl,  tall  and  slender,  with  hair  too 
exaggerated  with  fluffiness,  and  hat  too  large  and 
elaborate  of  plumage;  but  her  eyes  were  big  and  blue, 


Jenifer  31 

her  teeth  white,  and  she  seemed  filled  with  the  spirit  of 
the  hour.  She  shrieked  her  thanks  at  Jenifer.  The 
man  and  woman  with  her  closed  around  them  and 
swept  Jenifer  on  with  their  crowd. 

Ben  dropped  the  megaphone  from  his  lips. 

"  Boss,"  said  Ben,  when  they  stumbled  upon  one 
another  near  the  hotel  door  —  it  was  long  past  the 
midnight  —  "  Boss,  dat  sho  was  fine." 

"  It  was  that.  Here,  take  this."  Jenifer  paused 
in  the  empty  hall  to  fling  to  the  negro  the  horn  and 
bell  and  bags  of  glittering  sweets.  "  Lord,  look  at  me," 
he  cried,  as  he  caught  sight  of  himself  in  the  long  mirror 
he  passed. 

Shoulders  and  coat  were  covered  with  flour;  his 
cheeks  were  streaked,  his  hat  awry;  but  his  eyes  were 
glowing,  and,  tired  as  he  was,  he  was  ready  to  laugh 
at  the  sight  the  glass  gave  back. 

"  Jes  gib  7°'  coat  an'  nat  hyar,  an'  go  'long  to  baid. 
I'll  tend  to  'em."  Jenifer  slipped  his  arms  from  his 
coat,  and  stretched  them  above  his  head.  "  Whew, 
but  I'm  tired !  " 

'  '  Spec'  you  is,  all  dat  cavortin'  I  seen  you  a-doin'." 

"  Did  some  yourself,  didn't  you  ?  "  Jenifer  leaned 
over  the  banister  to  ask. 

'  '  Deed  I  did."  Ben  started  down  the  corridor,  but 
looked  back  at  the  tall  figure  with  bent  head  and  sleepy 
eyes. 

When  Jenifer  had  appeared  at  the  house,  his  absolute 
way  of  doing  just  as  he  chose  and  his  total  unconscious- 
ness of  any  difference  or  of  any  reason  for  fashioning 


32  Jenifer 

himself  after  a  fancied  model,  had  aroused  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  servants.  His  large-heartedness  had  changed 
that  amusement  to  something  which  bore  a  strong  tinge 
of  respect,  but  there  was  an  uncertainty  as  to  what 
the  young  man  would  next  do. 

Ben,  with  the  hilarity  of  the  hour,  called  up,  "  Merry 
Christmas." 

"  Merry  Christmas,"  Jenifer  echoed  with  a  laugh. 

But  the  words,  as  a  recurrent  date  may,  set  him 
thinking.  Jenifer  saw,  as  he  flung  off  his  clothes  and 
long  after  his  head  was  on  his  pillow,  deep  woods  and 
green  moss  underfoot,  and  overhead  bare  branches 
with  entangled  mistletoe;  and  he  heard,  instead  of  the 
roll  of  belated  wagon  wheels  and  the  smooth  sliding  of 
cars  along  steel  rails,  the  deep  swift  rush  of  the  Chowan, 
with  the  ripples  of  its  swirl  about  the  cypress.  He 
saw  blue  and  distant  harbors,  the  reaches  of  still,  tropic 
seas;  —  and  while  they  and  all  that  he  could  remember 
were,  in  his  mind,  continuous,  he  seemed  himself  to 
stand  apart  from  them  and  the  future  alike. 

He  had  not  feared  when  the  bar  was  put  up  across 
the  fold  of  school  and  he  was  outside;  he  had  felt  no 
misgiving  concerning  a  strange  country  and  people; 
the  last  two  years  had  been  ecstatically  satisfying:  now, 
on  what  he  termed  to  himself  a  lark,  Jenifer  was  sud- 
denly uncertain  and  the  future  lacked  radiance. 


IV 

THAT  Christmas  was  the  loneliest  day  Jenifer  had 
ever  known.  The  church  bells  had  ceased  ringing 
when  he  came  down.  Ben  waited. 

"  Lawd,  boss,  you  might  as  well  have  stayed  erway 
tel  dinnah."  The  hilarity  of  the  Christmas  greeting 
at  midnight  was  now  dead.  "  We's  gwine  hab  dinnah 
good  an'  early,  an'  gib  de  darkeys  a  chance;  yes,  sah. 
An'  'tis  gwine  be  a  dinnah  sho,  —  blue  p'ints,  an' 
tukkey  stuffed  chock-a-block  wid  iystahs,  an*  —  Say, 
boss,  you  bettah  hab  some  iystahs  now,  an'  a  cup  o' 
coffee  an'  a  roll.  Save  yo'  appetite. 

"  Too  late  fer  chu'ch,"  he  warned,  as  Jenifer  pushed 
back  his  chair. 

So  he  was,  but  he  thought  to  try  the  streets  whose 
glitter  had  fascinated  him.  He  walked  to  the  familiar 
corner  —  desolation !  Glittering  strands  and  broken 
baubles!  Holly  trodden  underfoot,  bruised  pine  and 
spruce!  His  room  was  Jenifer's  only  refuge. 

There  he  took  to  what  he  seldom  did  —  reading  the 
morning's  papers.  But  the  men  who  shaped  the  stuff 
the  printers  set  in  type  were  like  the  rest  of  the  world. 
They  had  blown  the  bubble  from  their  draught,  and 
now  the  cup  was  stale. 

Jenifer  turned  at  last  in  sheer  weariness  to  the  ad- 
33 


34  Jenifer 

vertisements,  —  well  spaced  items  of  local  stores,  terse 
sentences  of  lesser  matters,  and  that  column  of  tempta- 
tions which  sets  the  reader  dreaming  of  acres  and 
houses  and  the  thrill  of  land  possession. 

Down  it  he  went  with  genuine  interest  and  hit  upon 
an  item  that  meant  nothing  to  him  till  at  the  end  he 
came  upon  a  name.  Then  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  dashed 
the  paper  from  him,  and  strode  up  and  down  the  room. 
He  stooped  for  the  sheet,  re-read  it  and  flung  it  again 
from  him,  and  again  took  up  his  uncertain  march. 
The  face  reflected  in  the  long  glass  was  white,  the  gray 
eyes  blazing,  the  straight  figure  tenuous.  His  strong 
hands  were  clenched  in  his  pockets. 

It  was  possible,  —  that  was  his  first  thought.  It 
should  be,  —  and  instantly.  Then  Jenifer  was  running 
down  the  stair,  out  to  that  office  on  which  no  occasion 
shuts  the  door  and  from  which  his  message  clicked. 

It  might  be  holiday  but  he  would  not  wait.  It  was 
feast-day  but  he  would  find  his  man.  The  message 
sent,  Jenifer  was  off  tramping  the  streets  where  life 
hummed  yesterday  and  to-day  scarce  a  wagon  rolled, 
till  the  time  for  a  possible  answer  should  have  passed. 
When  he  came  back  he  was  white  for  fear  the  thing 
he,  in  one  swift  second,  had  set  his  whole  heart  on  was 
not  possible,  or,  what  would  have  then  been  worse, 
that  waiting  was  before  him.  But  the  clerk  held  out 
a  strip. 

The   written    scrawl   trembled   in   Jenifer's    fingers, 
blurring  before  him.    The  clerk,  idle  and  good-natured, 
and  necessarily  a  confidant,  laughed  at  his  fear. 
"  You've  got  it  all  right,"  he  said  carelessly. 


Jenifer  35 

"  Yes."    Jenifer's  lips  were  stiff,  his  voice  hoarse. 

"  Sort  of  a  Christmas  present  ?  " 

Jenifer  looked  down  at  him,  startled  at  the  question. 
He  had  never  had  a  Christmas  present.  "  Yes,"  — 
his  voice  easier,  —  "a  Christmas  gift.  To  myself,"  he 
added  when  he  was  on  the  street. 

His !  The  old  place,  the  columned  porch  with  floor 
of  patterned  brick  where  mosses  peeped;  the  marble 
steps  and  wide  high  hall;  the  stair  with  stately  curve; 
the  great  rooms  and  deep  hearths;  the  yard;  the  flower 
bordered  garden;  the  arcaded  quarters;  the  roll  of 
hills  and  slope  of  fields  and  running  stceams;  the  vision 
of  mountains  crowding  close;  —  his!  And  beyond  the 
wood  which  bordered  them  was  the  cabin  in  which  he 
had  been  born. 


THE  wind  that  night  changed  suddenly.  By  mid- 
night it  was  singing  down  the  streets,  and  dawn  was 
brilliantly  cold.  Jenifer,  fresh  from  hot  countries,  felt 
as  if  he  were  freezing.  He  was  wearing  before  dark  a 
heavy  coat  with  collar  turned  up  about  his  ears  and 
soft  black  hat  pulled  down  to  meet  his  collar.  His 
finger  tips  were  stiff. 

"  I  shall  have  to  buy  a  pair  of  gloves,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  shivered  on  the  street.  He  laughed  at  the 
idea,  but  turned  into  a  department  store  whose  glitter- 
ing windows  were  by  his  side. 

The  suavity  of  the  floor-walker  who  met  him  was 
bewildering.  "Gloves,  sir;  certainly,  sir.  This  way! 
Miss  Alice,  show  this  gentleman  some  gloves.  Walking  ? 
Driving  ? "  as  Jenifer  stood  red  and  dumb.  "  She  will 
find  whatever  you  want."  Jenifer  was  left  grasping 
at  a  counter  across  which  a  young  woman  gazed  at  him 
from  beneath  bewildering  fluffs  of  hair;  and  down  and 
away  and  across,  women  and  lights,  lights  and  women. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  curiously,  then  at  the  brown 
hand  gripping  the  counter's  edge.  "  Eights,  I  think 
will  fit,"  she  declared,  turning  for  the  boxes. 

At  the  voice  Jenifer  started.  He  was  startled  into 
observation  of  the  face  before  him.  The  high  piled 
36 


Jenifer  37 

hair  and  the  big  blue  eyes  were  those  of  the  young 
woman  who  had  shared  his  carnival  fun;  but  the  color 
was  gone  out  of  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were,  or  had 
been,  listless. 

"  You  had  better  sit  down,"  she  said,  laughing  at  his 
surprise.  "  I  can  fit  you  better.  So !  "  She  measured 
his  knuckles  deftly,  each  touch  of  her  fingers  signalling 
fresh  confusion  in  Jenifer's  mind,  and  before  the  young 
man,  bewildered  by  soft  pats  upon  his  hardened  hands, 
had  an  idea  of  what  she  meant  to  do,  she  was  slipping 
the  gloves  upon  his  fingers. 

His  stammering  protest  passed  unheeded.  The 
young  woman  was  enjoying  his  confusion,  and  the 
admiration  in  his  astonished  eyes  was  like  wine.  The 
other  clerks  had  drawn  away,  whispering  and  laughing. 

She  put  a  glove  upon  one  of  his  hands,  that  were 
suddenly  hot,  snapped  it  at  the  wrist,  and  then  leaned, 
talking  to  him  familiarly  as  the  cash-box  slid  along  its 
little  rail. 

"  That  certainly  was  a  good  time  we  had  the  other 
night,"  she  said,  pushing  the  box  before  her  about  the 
shining  counter.  "  Best  time  I  ever  had  in  my  life. 
But  I  am  certainly  tired  now." 

The  man's  quick  sympathy  was  stirred.  The  white 
cheeks  and  the  lines  about  the  young  woman's  mouth 
bespoke  the  truthfulness  of  her  complaint;  and  she 
said  nothing  of  the  late  dance  of  the  night  before,  which 
had  sapped  the  strength  that  might  have  gone  to  the 
work  of  the  day. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  Time  to  be  closing,  thank  good- 
ness. But  I  might  have  known  it,"  she  added  with  a 


38  Jenifer 

laugh  and  a  significant  look  from  a  figure  loitering  by 
the  door  to  the  young  woman  nearest  her.  "  Here's 
your  change." 

Jenifer  saw  a  man  sauntering  up  and  down  the  street, 
and,  in  idleness,  took  to  watching  him.  In  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  the  clerks  were  pouring  out  of  the  stores. 
Back  in  a  corner  by  a  window  the  man  whom  Jenifer 
watched  waited  till  a  red  plume  waved  across  the  crowd, 
and  the  man's  hat  was  soon  beside  it. 

Jenifer  understood  and  was  laughing  at  the  knowledge, 
when  a  voice  spoke  in  his  ear.  It  said  only  "  Good 
evening,"  but  its  demureness  was  dangerous.  Before 
she  spoke  Alice  had  detached  herself  from  a  girl  who 
clung  to  her,  and  she  made  it  appear  that  the  surge  of 
the  crowd  had  drifted  her  beside  him. 

"  Looks  like  the  other  night,"  she  said  with  a  laugh. 

"  It  certainly  does.  Only  there  is  not  so  much  fun. 
Are  you  going  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  be  glad  when  I  get  there,"  with  a  quick 
droop  of  her  fair  head. 

"  Which  is  your  car  ? "  asked  Jenifer  suddenly. 
He  thought  the  tired  woman  had  best  hasten. 

"  This,"  said  Alice  shortly,  pushing  forward. 

"  Let  me  put  you  on  it." 

Jenifer  easily  made  way  for  her.  She  felt  his  strong 
hand  under  her  elbow,  lifting  her  up;  but  if  she  looked 
for  anything  more  she  was  disappointed.  The  crowded 
car  was  off,  and  Jenifer  was  not  aboard. 

But  it  happened  that  he  was  at  that  corner  the  next 
evening.  The  closing  of  the  shops  was  a  new  phase  to 
him.  The  crowd  that  thronged  che  streets  all  day  was 


Jenifer  39 

gone.  In  its  stead  were  tired  women  and  hurrying 
men  and  shrill,  pathetic  children.  The  white  arc  lights 
made  their  faces  wan;  the  shadows  of  the  wires  swayed 
across  the  narrow  street;  high  up  the  windows  blazed; 
and  the  stars  in  that  slip  of  heaven  above  the  brick 
paled  before  the  flashing  lights.  The  things  they  stand 
for  might  have  been  forgotten;  steadfastness  and  hope 
and  eternity  seemed  impossible;  strife  and  rush  and 
press,  reality. 

Jenifer  was  aware  only  of  the  friendly  jostling,  the 
street  calls,  and  the  keen  air  which  made  haste  impera- 
tive. A  newsboy  pressed  against  him;  a  white-faced, 
hoarse-voiced  boy  sheltered  a  stand  of  red  carnations 
with  a  tired  arm;  the  crowd  jammed  closer;  and  some 
one,  with  a  voice  which  hinted  of  laughter,  spoke  at 
his  side. 

Jenifer  had  not  waited  for  it,  but  his  pleasure  was 
distinct.  "  Big  crowd,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  asked  lightly,  as 
he  looked  back  at  Alice  Mason's  face. 

"  Yes,  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  make  the  car."  She 
pouted  alluringly  as  she  spoke. 

"  Oh,  that  is  easy  enough."  Jenifer  started  to  clear 
a  way. 

"  I  am  not  in  such  an  awful  hurry.  That  car  is  full 
already.  I'm  going  to  wait  for  the  next.  I  don't  want 
to  stand  up,  heaven  knows.  I  have  had  enough  of  that 
all  day." 

Jenifer's  eyes  darkened  with  pity.  His  face  was 
keen  and  kind,  and  the  girl,  with  a  quick  glance  to  see 
that  none  heard,  spoke  graphically  of  her  trials.  Few 
men  listen  to  such  sentences  untouched.  They  know 


4O  Jenifer 

and  see  the  signs  of  physical  frailty.  Pit  that  inequality 
against  man's  strength,  and  will  alone  enables  the 
woman  to  brave  it.  Jenifer  saw  the  drooping  mouth 
and  the  white  cheeks  the  wind  had  but  begun  to  beat 
a  glow  upon,  and  felt  half- ashamed  of  his  magnificent 
un  tiredness. 

The  boy  with  his  flowers  had  pressed  nearer,  and 
the  smell  of  them  stole  up  to  Alice  as  he  talked.  "  How 
pretty  they  are,  and  sweet !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Jenifer  turned.  A  little  sheaf  of  red  nodded  over  the 
side  of  the  brown  jar. 

"  You  love  flowers  ? "  he  asked  quickly. 

The  girl,  seeing  what  was  coming,  nodded  delightedly. 

When  she  got  in  the  car  and  walked  up  the  aisle, 
carrying  the  sheaf  proudly  on  her  arm,  a  fellow  worker 
mischievously  hummed  a  bar  beneath  her  breath.  It 
was  one  to  which  many,  happy,  afraid,  or  merely  curious, 
have  listened,  and  to  which  children  have  set  simple 
words.  The  first  of  these  are :  "  Here  comes  the 
bride." 

Color  flared  suddenly  in  Alice's  cheeks.  She  gazed 
steadily  out  into  the  night.  Her  blue  eyes  were  hard 
and  her  breath  quick,  as  she  thought. 

When  Jenifer  helped  her  again  on  the  car  she  slipped 
a  card  into  his  hand.  "  Gome  and  see  me  sometime," 
she  said;  and  Jenifer,  used  to  the  easy  way  of  folk 
who  have  always  known  one  another,  was  delighted 
with  what  he  thought  a  show  of  friendliness  amidst 
the  repelling  reserve  of  a  big  city. 

He  waited  a  day  or  two  before  he  went,  and  some 
feeling  kept  him  away  from  that  crowded  corner.  Then, 


Jenifer  41 

too,  he  had  found  other  things  to  interest  him.  The 
wires  had  settled  his  purchase,  but  letters  had  been 
necessary  and  their  tenor  had  unfolded  to  him  possi- 
bilities sufficient  for  every  thought. 

It  never  occurred  to  Jenifer  to  go  himself  to  settle 
the  affair,  though  a  scant  hundred  and  sixty  miles  in- 
tervened. But  there  are  people,  and  some  of  them  the 
strongest,  who  could  not  give  a  motive  for  their  deeds 
and  yet  live  wisely.  It  may  be  that  the  inner  leading 
of  a  pure  and  wholesome  mind  is  better  than  analy- 
sis. 

The  old  estate  which  Jenifer  had  bought  had  come 
down  into  the  hands  of  a  child  who  was  an  orphan; 
and  the  one  regard  of  his  caretakers  seemed  to  be  to 
settle  a  lump  sum  on  the  boy.  That  meant  that  Jenifer 
had  bought  not  only  houses  and  acres,  but  all  the  build- 
ings held.  Who  cared  for  musty  books  and  tarnished 
brass  and  peeling  veneer  and  dim  portraits  ?  Not 
they!  Nor  did  Jenifer,  at  first.  He  was  wondering 
what  he  should  do  with  them. 

Besides,  the  air  had  softened,  the  sky  thickened 
and  darkened  till  clouds  rolled  from  rim  to  rim;  and 
their  fleeciness  had  compressed  to  hard  gray  folds 
without  a  shadow  between.  Sitting  in  his  room  and 
half-asleep,  Jenifer  heard  the  hissing  of  the  snow  as  it 
struck  that  night  upon  his  window-pane. 

In  the  morning  the  wires  swayed  beneath  its  weight. 
Cornices  and  window-frames  were  crowded  with  white 
featheriness  which  clung  to  the  walls  like  hoary  eyebrows 
upon  a  man's  dark  face;  and  from  wall  to  wall  the  way 
lay  white.  Ben  was  ready  with  advice. 


42  Jenifer 

"  Boss,"  he  said,  as  he  hovered  around  Jenifer  at 
his  small  table  in  the  far  corner,  "  dis  is  de  day  fer  a 
sleigh-ride  sho." 

Jenifer's  gray  eyes,  which  showed  often  blue  or  black, 
according  to  his  mood,  looked  suddenly  blue  with  a 
glint  of  amusement  at  Ben's  enthusiasm. 

"  You  nebbah  did  see  nothin'  like  it,  de  way  'twill 
look  out  in  de  park  dis  mornin'.  I  used  to  dribe  myse'f, 
an'  I  knows.  An'  dat's  de  thing  I  likes  to  do,  but  seem 
like  —  Well,  I'm  a-tryin'  my  han'  at  dis  now.  A  sleigh- 
ride,"  the  negro  added  slyly,  "  it  suttenly  do  cos'  a 
lot." 

"  How  much  ?  "  Jenifer  looked  up  to  ask  carelessly. 

Ben  stood  still  and  straight,  a  cover  in  his  hands; 
his  big  eyes  were  black  and  fathomless.  "  Ten  dollahs 
an  hour,  sah,"  he  declared  impressively.  Suddenly  his 
eyes  flashed;  his  big  mouth  opened  for  a  wide  grin. 
"  Gwine  to  try  it  ?  You  is  ?  I  knows  de  very  hosses 
you  wants.  Jes  let  me  git  'em.  Ten  o'clock  ?  All 
right,  sah.  I'll  hab  a  little  time  off  'bout  den." 

Ben  took  time  to  bring  up  the  team  himself, — 
prancing  horses  and  jingling  bells  and  black  buffalo 
robes,  —  and  before  them  the  long  line  of  the  snow- 
filled  street.  He  stood  knee-deep  in  the  drift  beside 
the  curb. 

"  Lawd,  but  I  envies  you,"  he  said  wistfully. 

"  Want  to  go  ? "  asked  Jenifer  lightly,  as  he  folded 
the  robes  about  his  knees. 

"  Want  to  ?  Say,  boss,  does  you  know  how  to 
dribe  ?  " 

Jenifer  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.     Poor  as  he 


Jenifer  43 

had  been  born  and  bred  in  a  crowd,  he  had  yet  learned 
a  horse  and  his  ways  as  he  had  learned  to  breathe. 
He  handled  the  reins  lovingly  in  his  strong  fingers. 

"  I  see  you  does.  But  many  a  gemman  jes  takes  a 
niggah  'long  fer  looks.  An'  you  looks  fine,"  wheedled 
Ben. 

"  Can  you  get  off?  "      Jenifer  hesitated. 

"  Good  Gawd,  boss,  what's  to  stop  me  ?  Ef  dat  man  " 
—  nodding  to  the  hotel  behind  him  —  "  gits  mad,  an'  I 
loses  my  job,  can't  I  git  anuddah  ?  An'  I  can't  git  a 
sleigh-ride  ebry  day.  You  think  I'm  gwine  ax  anybody 
wheddah  I  can  go  or  not  ?  " 

"  Here,  hold  the  horses  a  minute."  Jenifer  sprang 
out,  ran  into  the  office,  and  in  a  second  was  back  again. 
"  Jump  in,"  he  said  shortly;  and  the  horses,  impatient 
of  restraint,  were  off. 

Ben's  enthusiasm  struck  a  spark  from  Jenifer's 
calm  acceptance.  The  negro  knew  furred  drivers  and 
racing  horses,  and  it  was  his  bubbling  talk  of  them 
which  made  Jenifer  say,  with  a  diffidence  which  denied 
a  trace  of  the  braggart,  "  I  have  a  place  of  my  own 
up  in  the  country." 

"  Farm  ?    Good  Gawd,  boss,  you  don't  say  so  ?  " 

"  Good  place  for  horses,  too,"  added  Jenifer. 

"  Does  you  raise  'em  ?  Is  you  gwine  try  'em  up 
dyar  ?  " 

Jenifer  was  looking  straight  before  him.  Cedar 
and  spruce  stood  black  against  the  hill;  a  lake  sparkled 
at  his  side;  and  over  it  rang  loudly  the  music  of  his 
bells. 

"  Is  you  gwine  lib  dyar  ?  "  the  negro  insisted. 


44  Jenifer 

He  asked  the  questions  which  had  slumbered  under 
the  surface  of  Jenifer's  careless  heyday.  "  I  think  so; 
some  day,"  he  answered  slowly. 

Ben  leaned  to  peer  into  Jenifer's  face.  The  young 
man's  eyes  were  dark  and  narrow.  The  few  careless 
words  he  had  spoken  had  called  a  flush  to  his  face 
redder  than  that  which  the  cold  had  fanned  upon  his 
cheek.  Yes,  he  said  to  himself,  he  would  do  it.  "  Live 
there !  live  there !  "  the  horses'  hoofs  beat  it,  the  runners 
sang  it,  and,  as  they  topped  the  hill  and  the  roll  of  land 
was  before  them,  Jenifer  felt  as  if  all  the  world  were 
his. 

He  raised  himself  and  shouted  to  the  horses  as  they 
raced  the  slope;  and  Ben's  laugh  was  louder  than 
Jenifer's  voice. 

Still  the  negro  was  not  done  with  that  matter  of  farm 
and  horses.  "  Boss,"  he  asked,  when  time  and  distance 
had  sobered  them,  "  don't  you  want  a  niggah  on  dat 
place  ?  Dyar's  plenty  dyar,  I  know ;  but  don't  you 
want  me  ?  " 

Jenifer  shifted  the  reins  and  turned  to  look  the  negro 
squarely  in  the  eyes.  "  Ever  live  in  the  country  ?  "  he 
asked  succinctly. 

"  Bohn  dyar." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  got  erway  somehow.  I  —  Ise  twice  as  good 
erroun'  a  stable  as  I  is  anywhars  else." 

"  What  did  you  leave  it  for  then  ? " 

"  Well,  me  an'  de  man  I  wukked  fer,  we  fell  out." 
Ben  fidgeted.  "  Wanted  me  to  hitch  up  a  hoss  some 
man  had  been  dribin'  half  a  day,  an'  de  hoss  still  pantin*. 


Jenifer  45 

I  wouldn't  do  it.  An'  so  —  an'  so  I  jes  took  up  the 
nex*  thing  what  come  handy." 

"  There's  nobody  on  the  place  now,"  said  Jenifer 
reflectively. 

"  How  much  Ian'  is  in  it  ? " 

"  Six  hundred  acres." 

"  An'  houses,  too  ?  " 

"  Of  course !  "  Jenifer  was  impatient  at  unwarranted 
questioning. 

"  All  shet  up  ?  Now  ain't  dat  a  shame !  An*  dyar's 
some  people  hyar,  an'  I  knows  'em,  dat  don't  know 
whar  dey'll  sleep  when  night  comes  erroun'." 

"  I  can't  help  that."  Jenifer  was  tired  of  the  talk. 
He  flicked  the  lagging  nag  to  keep  her  up  with  the 
leader. 

"  Yes,  you  can."  Ben  was  in  clear  good-nature. 
"  You  can  take  one  niggah  out  dis  town.  An'  you's 
gwine  do  it,  'long  'bout  spring-time  now  ?  " 

Jenifer's  laugh  carried  all  the  assurance  Ben  needed. 


VI 

As  it  happened  Jenifer  relieved  the  city's  population 
of  another;  even  of  a  third. 

The  second  was  due  to  Ben's  bragging. 

Jenifer  had  foregathered  in  the  lobby  and  on  the 
street  corners  with  a  young  man  whose  attraction  lay 
in  a  surface  good-fellowship  and  a  caustic  knowledge 
of  the  city's  ways.  It  was  this  man  to  whom  Ben's 
bragging  spread. 

He  approached  Jenifer  with  some  careless  reference 
to  the  negro's  talk,  but  Jenifer's  reticence  held  his 
questioner  at  bay.  Still  the  stranger  was  interested; 
and  it  is  hard  for  a  man  who  does  not  know  how  to 
lie  to  fend.  If  Jenifer  had  one  gift  beyond  all  others 
it  was  truth-telling.  The  emblazonment  and  broidery 
of  speech  were  impossible  to  him,  but,  once  cornered, 
once  made  to  talk  he  did  so  with  such  clearness  and 
distinctness  of  term  and  expression  that  the  words 
formed  for  the  hearer  a  sunlit  picture  and  he  saw  the 
thing  of  which  Jenifer  talked;  but  Jenifer  was  too 
young  and  too  unknowing  to  use  his  taciturn  habit  as 
a  shield  to  guard  himself. 

When  the  young  man  —  he  was  an  illustrator  on 
one  of  the  city  dailies,  and  a  maker  of  sketches  some- 
times better  than  those  his  sheet  desired  —  had  finally 
46 


Jenifer  47 

found  out  all  he  wanted  to  know  and  understood  more 
than  did  Jenifer  himself  he  startled  the  visitor. 

"  Jenifer,"  he  said,  "  you  will  want  that  old  place 
fixed  up.  You  want  it  done  right.  Of  course  you  do." 

Jenifer  was  in  the  lobby  lounging  against  one  of 
the  pillars.  He  squared  his  shoulders  in  his  surprise. 
Merely  to  own  it  and  to  live  in  it  —  that  old  place  — 
had  seemed  enough. 

"  Man,"  added  the  artist  querulously,  "  you've  got 
a  chance  not  one  in  a  thousand  gets.  You  don't  deserve 
it." 

Jenifer  had  not  asked  himself  if  he  did.  He  had  it ; 
that  was  sufficient. 

"  Many  a  man  would  be  crazy  over  such  an  oppor- 
tunity. This  historic  old  place  —  It  is  historic  ?  " 

His  listener's  mind  whirled  with  a  sudden  recollec- 
tion of  its  legends.  They  had  been  forgotten  till 
now. 

"  Just  so.  To  remember  its  past,  to  bring  the 
place  into  shape,  into  keeping  with  its  present  —  I'd 
like  to  do  it."  The  artist  spoke  carelessly,  but  his 
glance  at  Jenifer  was  keen. 

"  Tell  you  what  it  is,  Jenifer,"  he  went  on  in  quick 
undertone,  "  I'm  sick  of  it,  all  this,  what  you  have 
seen,  and  now  —  God !  You  don't  know  the  begin- 
ning. I  feel  —  Sometimes  another  day  of  it  seems 
impossible.  There  is  something,  a  dream,  a  fantasy, 
call  it  what  you  please,  —  something  I  am  crazed  to  be 
about,  to  try.  It  would  count,  if  I  could.  I  know  it. 
And  I  am  bound  to  this  cursed  work.  It  bleeds  me 
of  every  minute.  I've  got  to  keep  at  it  for  bread." 


48  Jenifer 

Wheatham  brought  his  heel  down  sharply  on  the 
marble  floor.  His  forehead  was  furrowed  and  the 
sweat  stood  thick  on  it.  "  If  I  could  get  away,  cut 
loose,  make  enough  to  live  on  while  I  could  —  could 
work  at  that  —  God !  for  time !  And  every  day  it 
seems  to  fade  from  me  because  I  can't  begin  on  it; 
to  grow  dim.  Some  day  it  will  be  gone."  It  was  early, 
no  one  else  in  the  lobby,  and  Wheatham  was  strid- 
ing up  and  down  the  floor.  Jenifer  caught  but  a 
word  now  and  then.  "  And  I  —  I  shall  be  use- 
less. I  shall  never  get  the  grip  of  it  again  or  of  any- 
thing." 

Jenifer  caught  him  by  the  arm,  linked  his  own  through 
it,  though  Jenifer's  height  made  his  leaning  towards 
the  other  seem  absurd.  "  Come  up  to  my  room  and 
talk  it  over,"  he  said. 

As  a  result  the  artist,  a  week  later,  was  on  his  way 
towards  the  mountains.  Snow-drifts  and  red  clay 
might  well  have  dampened  his  ardor,  but  on  his  return 
he  had  enough  to  fire  his  speech.  He  should  have 
talked  of  the  house  which  he  had  gone  to  consider, 
but  the  mountain  tops,  the  haze  upon  their  whiteness, 
and  their  majestic  sweep  were  his  refrain. 

"  Beautiful  old  stairway,  and  from  the  landing  —  " 
Wheatham  shook  his  head.  He  could  not  describe  it, 
that  wide  window  and  the  world  beyond  it.  "  Miles 
of  misty  hills,  as  if  the  great  folds  of  them  were  wrinkled 
against  the  sky,"  he  added  dreamily. 

Wheatham  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  haunting 
Jenifer's  room,  and  there,  as  they  sat,  —  both  smoked 
generally,  —  he  talked  incessantly.  The  man  had  kept 


Jenifer  49 

the  better  part  of  himself  cramped  so  long  that  now,  as 
it  pushed  forth  from  repression,  it  swept  him  from  his 
caustic  self-control. 

Jenifer  listened  with  scarce  a  word  to  interrupt. 
Now  and  then  his  eyes  darkened,  or  the  lines  were 
tense  about  his  mouth;  and  in  his  silence  and  his  apti- 
tude for  quick  decision  the  artist  began  to  recognize  a 
strength. 

"  Man,"  Wheatham  threw  in,  staccato  fashion,  "  it 
must  be  something  to  sit  by  the  blazing  fire  there  on 
a  winter's  night,  and  hear  the  wind  howling  across 
those  hills,  and  searching  one's  soul.  A  man  must  be 
satisfied  with  himself — at  peace  with  himself — or 
he  could  not  face  it  out.  Lord,  it  needs  a  crowd  and 
noise  to  make  one  forget  his  nothingness.  If  ever  it 
were  proven  that  the  majority  of  great  men  were  country 
bred,  it  would  be  that  —  that  —  What  is  it  ?  that  being 
face  to  face  with  the  knowledge  of  the  thing  you  ought 
to  be." 

Wheatham  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  The 
night  he  camped  in  that  disused  house  and  built  his 
fire  he  could  not  have  endured  it  but  for  that  dream 
of  creation  in  his  soul  and  the  divine  hope  of  mounting 
higher  than  his  plodding  had  yet  admitted.  The  dream 
he  held  warm  pricked  now  at  the  fine  web  of  fret  and 
work  which  had  enmeshed  it;  and  he  could  see,  here 
in  this  room,  patterned  like  a  hundred  of  its  kind  and 
stiff  and  unbeautiful,  the  place  in  those  hills  where  he 
would  house  himself,  and  live  and  wait  and  dream, 
with  the  sun  on  the  peaks  and  the  haze  in  the  hollows, 
for  inspiration;  and  work  slowly  and  as  he  chose,  till, 


$o  Jenifer 

little  by  little,  the  thought  born  of  his  best  should  grow 
and  be  perfected. 

In  Jenifer's  mind  the  wonder  of  possession  grew, 
and  the  passion  of  it. 

Their  talk  beat  always  about  the  old  house  amongst 
the  hills.  "  Tell  you  what,  Jenifer,"  exclaimed 
Wheatham  abruptly,  "  you  don't  want  any  new  stuff 
in  that  house.  You  are  to  leave  it  to  me,  if  I  under- 
stand the  bargain."  But  Wheatham  flushed.  The 
compact  had  been  of  his  own  making.  He  had  not 
forgotten  that  he  had  fairly  forced  it  upon  Jenifer. 
"  You  are  going  to  leave  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course.      That  is  the  bargain." 

Wheatham  flung  himself  across  a  chair,  his  arms  on 
the  straight  back,  his  face  thrust  forward  eagerly. 
"  You  have  never  told  me  what  I  could  do,  or  just 
what  you  want.  How  much  money  are  you  going  to 
spend  on  it  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  Jenifer  grasped  the  tangible  thought.  The 
evening  paper,  with  one  of  Wheatham's  cartoons  star- 
ing from  the  page,  lay  on  the  table.  Jenifer  pulled 
it  to  him,  and  began  making  figures  on  the  margin. 
He  treated  his  money  tree  fairly.  It  was  hard  and 
fast  in  mind  that  no  root  of  it  should  be  disturbed, 
nor  had  they  been;  and  while  this  present  humor  of 
his  lasted  he  wanted  plenty  for  himself.  In  a  second 
he  knew  how  many  dollars  of  his  could  go  towards 
this  latest  whim.  It  was  no  fabulous  sum,  but  enough. 

Wheatham  laughed,  when  it  was  named,  from  sheer 
delight  at  thinking  of  it,  —  the  old  home,  its  possibili- 
ties, and  his  the  power  to  bring  them  out. 


Jenifer  .  51 

"  But  out  of  that  must  come  your  own  pay,"  warned 
Jenifer. 

Wheatham  reddened.  "  I  know.  It  is  enough. 
When  do  you  want  it  finished  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

Jenifer  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  head.  "  I 
don't  know,"  he  answered  dreamily.  It  waited,  the 
thing  he  most  desired;  but  he  was  not  ready  for  it. 
Something  intervened.  He  had  no  idea  what.  "  Take 
your  own  time,"  he  ended  lightly. 

Meanwhile  there  was  something  in  Jenifer's  life 
which  Wheatham  and  Ben  alike  resented.  Few  of  the 
evenings  found  him  about  the  lobby  or  in  his  room, 
and  they  knew  where  he  had  gone ;  —  theatre,  supper, 
often  at  some  place  of  questionable  reputation  and 
always  with  the  same  companion.  They  knew  the 
woman  must  have  instigated  such  gaieties.  The  man 
had  not  before  heard  of  their  existence. 

It  had  been  hard  for  Jenifer  to  make  up  his  mind  for 
that  first  call.  He  waited  a  week  before  he  sought 
out  the  number  on  the  card  Alice  had  given  him  and 
found  it. 

The  young  woman  had  been  first  disappointed  and 
then  provoked  at  Jenifer's  disappearance.  When  at 
her  young  sister's  "  A  man  to  see  you,  and  he's  a 
stranger,  —  and  he  didn't  say  a  word  about  his  name," 
she  powdered  and  fluffed  and  elaborated,  and  came 
tripping  down  the  narrow  stair,  her  surprise  put  to 
flight,  for  an  instant,  her  pouting;  and  the  admiration, 
which  she  was  quick  to  see  in  Jenifer's  eyes,  and  the 
wonder  with  which  he  listened  to  her  frivolities,  appeased 
her. 


$2  Jenifer 

Jenifer  thought  her  marvellous:  slender  and  tall, 
with  fingers  and  body  that  never  rested,  but  empha- 
sized the  trip  of  light  words  from  her  tongue  —  How 
could  she  talk  so  easily,  say  so  many  words,  throw 
such  changes  of  inflection  into  her  voice,  so  sway  and 
lean  and  straighten,  and  after  all  say  nothing  with  a 
gist  of  meaning  ? 

It  was  wonderful;  it  was  intensely  amusing.  No 
glittering  play  of  Eastern  beads  in  swarthy  hands  ever 
more  surely  charmed  the  gazer. 

Who  was  to  warn  him  ?  Wheatham  went  the  length 
of  finding  out  what  manner  of  woman  Alice  Mason 
was  and  groaned  at  the  knowledge.  The  things  that 
could  be  said  against  her  were  only  negations,  but  she 
was  not  Jenifer's  sort.  Still,  what  was  his  kind? 
Wheatham  had  but  a  chance  acquaintanceship  and  the 
knowledge  of  the  charge  Jenifer  had  given  him.  Yet 
the  far-seeing  part  of  him  forbade  the  union  of  Jenifer's 
name  with  hers,  even  in  thought. 

The  negro,  too,  with  that  dexterous  skill  which  finds 
and  grasps  the  personalities  of  those  they  serve,  rebelled. 

"  Boss,"  he  hinted  one  day,  "  dyar's  some  mighty 
pretty  ummuns  in  dis  town." 

Jenifer  was  fastening  his  tie  before  the  mirror.  He 
had  bought  good  clothes,  —  it  was  one  of  the  first  things 
he  had  attended  to,  —  but  he  wore  them  carelessly. 
There  was  not  a  trace  of  the  dandy  about  him.  If 
something  of  aloofness,  of  his  silent  questioning  of 
humanity,  of  his  young,  alert,  yet  calm  expectancy 
had  not  laid  its  mark  upon  him,  he  would  have  gone 
unnoticed. 


Jenifer  53 

"  Lawd,"  cried  Ben,  his  fingers  itching  as  he  watched 
Jenifer's  carelessness,  "  you  ain't  got  dat  knot  eben 
'spectable.  Lemme  fix  it.  Dyar,  ef  you'll  jes  let  de 
en's  fly  out,  an'  stick  a  flowah  in  yo'  buttonhole  — 
Why  don't  you  now  ?  "  he  wheedled.  "  'Tis  jes  de 
time  de  pretty  girls  is  out;  an'  dey's  hyar,  thick  as  bees 
in  flowah  time,  an'  as  pretty  as  de  blossoms,  an'  sweet  — 
Lawd-ee !  "  Ben  slipped  behind  Jenifer,  and  gave  one 
quick  look  over  the  broad  shoulder  at  the  young  man's 
reflected  face. 

Jenifer  was  amused,  but  at  Ben. 

"  I  goes  myse'f  sometimes  'long  whar  Ise  gwine  see 
'em  de  mos'.  Sech  little  feet  a-trapsin'  'long,  an'  ruffles 
peepin'  out,  an'  coat  sort  o'  flung  open  — "  Ben, 
unconsciously,  was  doing  the  promenade  act  to  a  finish. 
He  flopped  out  his  dingy  vest  to  simulate  the  dainty 
blouses.  "  An'  de  rosy  cheeks  an'  de  bright  eyes  an'  —  " 
Ben  collapsed.  His  smirk  was  too  far  behind  the  gay 
graciousness  of  expression  which  he  recalled,  and  he 
had  seen  his  own  face  as  he  pranced  by  the  mirror. 

"  I  suttenly  should  try  it,"  he  insisted,  prolonging 
the  time  of  his  errand  unconscionably  and  desperately 
anxious  to  divert  Jenifer's  interest  from  the  woman 
who  was  absorbing  it.  "  Mebbe  —  mebbe  you  mought 
scrape  a  'quaintance.  Dyar's  no  telling,"  he  added 
knowingly. 

"  But,  boss,"  he  warned  solemnly,  "  ef  ebbah  you 
tries  anything  like  dat,  fetch  de  right  one.  I  tell  you  it 
makes  a  heap  o'  diffrunce  who  a  man  —  a  man  sort  o* 
trots  wid.  Ebry  pair  has  got  to  moderate  dyar  paces 
to  one  anuddah  to  mek  things  go  smooth  an'  eben;  an' 


54  Jenifer 

you  wants  a  good  pardnah  on  de  uddah  side  de  pole 
ebry  time,  wheddah  'tis  a  spin  in  de  park,  or  a  long 
trot  on  de  road,  or  a  good  long  pull  fer  bus'ness. 

"  An'  I  knows  one  thing  fer  sutten,"  he  added  re- 
flectively, "  ef  I  was  a  hoss  an*  had  my  say  in  de  mattah  — 
an'  a  man  he  has  when  he's  a-hitchin'  up  —  I'd  look 
to  de  p'ints  o'  de  one  dey  buckled  me  wid.  I  would 
fer  a  fac',  sho." 

Ben's  hints  were  unheeded.  Jenifer  had  not  even 
an  idea  that  his  doings  were  of  moment  to  any  one.  He 
thought  he  was  seeing  the  city  in  a  new  light,  as  he 
was;  that  he  had  an  excellent  guide,  as  he  had;  that 
there  was  no  way  of  pleasure  more  harmless,  but  he 
should  have  asked  himself  the  significance  of  that  final 
word. 

For  if  he  did  not  know  the  way  he  trended,  the  woman 
did.  Jenifer  took  to  lounging  in  at  the  store  to  make 
new  appointments,  to  passing  the  door  with  a  keen 
glance  inside  to  see  if  he  could  catch  sight  of  her,  to 
waiting  on  that  crowded  corner  at  night,  beneath  the 
white  arc  lights  and  in  the  swaying  crowd,  for  a  word 
when  Alice  started  homewards.  Once,  his  horse  was 
at  the  curb  when  she  hurried  by  from  luncheon. 

Jenifer  had  taken  steadily  to  driving.  That  morning 
the  park  roads  were  hard,  the  sky  blue,  the  air  keen. 
The  speed  of  his  horse  and  the  spin  of  his  wheels  had 
exhilarated  him.  He  had  come  back  into  the  city  to 
drive  slowly  up  the  narrow  shopping  street  and  to 
watch  the  crowd;  and  he  had  remembered  an  errand 
in  a  near  by  shop. 

A  street-boy  held  the  reins  while  Jenifer  was  out  of 


Jenifer  55 

sight.  The  horse  stood  with  arched  neck  and  warm 
flanks  and  smoking  nostrils;  the  skin  of  him  was  red 
brown,  like  old  mahogany,  the  eyes  friendly,  and  he 
turned  as  if  looking  at  Alice  as  she  hurried  past. 

In  a  second  she  stood  by  him,  her  bare  hand  on 
his  slender  muzzle.  "  You  beauty,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  wish  you  were  mine,  and  I  was  going  all  day  behind 
you."  She  half-whispered  it  beneath  her  breath  and 
it  was  but  an  idle  impulse  of  the  moment,  rooted  in 
no  real  appreciation;  but  Jenifer  came  up  behind  her 
and  heard. 

"  Try  it,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  over  her  shoulder. 

Alice  wheeled  to  face  him.      "  Oh,  is  it  yours  ?  " 

"  No.  But  there  are  plenty  of  others  in  the  stable. 
I  wouldn't  take  him  out  again  to-day;  but  if  you  will 
go,  if  you  will  try  one  of  the  others  —  " 

"  I  ?  "  bitterly.  "  I'll  be  there,"  with  a  wave  of  her 
hand  towards  the  entrance  of  the  store. 

"  You  might  take  a  little  holiday  now  and  then," 
Jenifer  urged. 

"  And  lose  my  job  ?  "  The  young  woman  knew 
that  the  blue  eyes  and  fluffed  hair  held  it  more  than 
her  efficiency.  She  dared  no  liberties. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  stand  there,"  asked  Jenifer  hotly, 
"  there  in  one  spot  not  big  enough  to  pace  a  horse  in, 
where  you  couldn't  even  turn  one  around  —  God !  " 
Suddenly  he  saw  what  such  days  would  mean  for  him; 
and  he  measured  her  horror  by  his.  "  Do  you  expect 
to  stay  there  always,  all  your  life  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  The  girl's  lashes  were  on  her 
cheeks  and  her  cheeks  were  pink;  but  her  lips  trembled. 


56  Jenifer 

At  that  hour  few  were  on  the  street.  The  cars  clanged 
past;  a  boy,  not  far  away,  fondled  his  fading  roses' 
none  heeded  those  two.  The  boy  at  the  horse's  head 
could  not  hear  their  speech. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  '*  asked  Jenifer  in  quick 
dismay.  "  You  —  you  are  not  crying  ?  " 

Her  lashes  were  not  wet ;  but  they  were  not  uplifted. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated  impatiently. 

"  Nothing  —  only  —  that  was  one  of  the  men  from 
the  store.  Did  you  see  him,  how  he  looked  at  us  and 
laughed  ?  And  he  will  tell  everybody  that  he  saw  me 
talking  to  you,  and  —  and  —  "  she  stammered. 

Jenifer  made  one  step.  It  brought  him  so  near  that 
his  foot  was  on  the  hem  of  her  skirt.  "  And  what  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  They  tease  me  to  death,"  she  pouted,  with  a  quick 
glint  of  blue  from  under  her  lashes. 

"  Here !  "  Jenifer  called  to  the  boy,  and  seized  the 
reins,  holding  them  in  one  strong  hand.  The  other 
was  on  the  girl's  arm.  "  Get  in,"  he  said  steadily. 

Alice  tried  to  pull  herself  away,  and  to  look  at  him. 
But  Jenifer's  quick  glance  had  told  him  that  she  was 
fully  wrapped.  Her  coat  was  open,  her  gloves  in  her 
hand,  her  hat  pinned  carelessly;  but  she  was  protected. 

"  Get  in,"  he  repeated  masterfully,  his  touch  as 
compelling  as  his  tone. 

Alice  was  smiling  demurely  as  the  robes  were  tucked 
about  her  and  the  horse  was  dashing,  twisting  between 
the  wagons,  up  the  street. 

Jenifer  came  in  his  room  at  dusk.     His  eyes  were 


Jenifer  57 

dark  and  shining,  his  face  flushed.  Every  inch  of  him 
was  straight  and  exultant. 

Wheatham  sat  by  the  unsteady  table,  his  restless 
fingers  pencilling  the  outlines  of  a  cartoon,  and  he 
was  whistling,  and  breaking  the  tune  with  laughter 
as  he  worked. 

"  Hello !  "  He  sat  up  straight  at  the  slam  of  the 
door,  and  his  eyes,  filled  with  the  film  of  fancy,  bright- 
ened and  widened  as  he  looked. 

Jenifer  stood  with  his  back  against  the  door,  its  dark 
panels  making  a  background  for  his  lithe  figure,  his 
reddened  cheeks,  his  glowing  eyes. 

"  Tom,"  he  said  to  the  other  man  slowly,  "  Tom, 
I'm  married." 


VII 

WHEATHAM  looked  down  the  listed  licenses  in  the 
morning.  He  saw  their  names :  "  Alice  Mason,  aged 
twenty-six; "  and  there  had  not  been  a  day  of  those 
last  six  years  when  she  would  not  have  flung  every- 
thing on  the  bare  chance  of  escaping  the  grind  into 
which  she  had  fallen  when  she  had  first  pinned  a  black 
apron  about  her  thin,  pathetic,  childish  self  and  hurried 
up  and  down  the  store's  aisles  at  the  command  of 
any  clerk. 

The  groom's  age  was  twenty-three. 

But  whether  Jenifer  had  made  or  marred  he  was 
out  of  sight  of  Wheatham's  silent  questioning  in  a 
day  or  two.  He  had  gone  to  the  city  of  adventurers. 
Wheatham  was  to  start  soon  for  the  mountains,  Ben 
with  him.  The  lawyer  whose  skill  had  effected  the 
sale  of  the  acres  was  to  advise  in  Wheatham's  bar- 
gaining for  the  tilling  of  the  fields ;  in  all  else  the  artist 
was  to  have  free  hand.  The  business  was  simple  and 
easily  arranged. 

New  York,  with  the  new  wife's  pointing,  proved 
the  gateway  of  Europe.  The  manner  of  their  journey- 
ing there  was  curious.  For  her,  the  fervid  heart  of  every 
city;  for  him,  its  quaint  or  curious  places.  For  her, 
the  hard-trodden,  crowd-pressed  road;  for  him,  the 


Jenifer  59 

unknown  path,  the  unguessed  byway.  Jenifer,  some- 
how, even  in  his  ignorance,  found  these  out. 

They  were  both  too  newly  from  the  poor  to  feel  in 
old  lands  and  ancient  capitals  that  Jenifer's  slender 
wealth  was  less  than  luxury;  or  that  there  was  any 
need  in  any  part  of  the  earth  for  those  conventions 
they  had  not  grasped. 

If  Jenifer,  with  that  strange  sense  for  searching 
out  things  at  first  hand,  wished  to  tramp  English  lanes, 
through  fields  where  the  grain  rolled  like  a  green  sea 
to  break  against  the  highway  or  by  cherry  orchards, 
white  and  fragrant,  or  along  roads  where  the  black- 
berry spread  pink-tinged  blossoms,  what  hindered 
Alice's  open  delight  in  shops  and  lounging  places  of 
London  ?  Neither  found  it  strange  that  they  were 
willing  so  soon  to  be  parted. 

Thus  it  came  that  Jenifer  learned  the  Frenchman's 
way  of  harvest;  Alice,  his  methods  of  millinery.  Jenifer 
noticed  the  quiet  homes  and  thrifty  ways,  and  felt  the 
charm  of  low  cottages  and  circling  doves  and  barefoot 
children;  she,  the  allurement  of  cafes  and  drives  and 
theatre-halls. 

Jenifer's  mind,  as  he  journeyed,  was  filled  with 
compassion.  That  man  should  work  and  delve  and 
live  for  generations  in  such  narrow  compass  with  such 
small  meed  of  comfort !  That  earth's  bare  soil  should 
anywhere  be  a  treasure  for  men  to  bear  upon  their 
backs  and  pack  between  the  rocks  to  set  their  seedlings 
in!  The  thought  of  his  own  lands  grew  strong  and 
warm.  He  planned  what  he  should  do  when  he  went 
back  to  them  and  what  hints  of  old  world  wisdom  he 


60  Jenifer 

would  seize  upon.  But  he  was  not  ready  to  return. 
He  was  greedy  to  see  how  this  round  world,  whose 
image  spun  upon  its  axis  in  the  school  where  he  had  been 
taught,  bore  mountain  and  field  and  meadow  and 
still  stream  and  rushing  river  and  blue  sea,  and  how 
people  alien  to  one  another,  divided  by  custom,  speech, 
race  history,  are  yet  alike  in  all  significant  things  of 
life. 

From  England  Jenifer  sent  home  a  string  of  horses, 
sheep,  whose  breed,  mingled  with  that  of  the  county's 
kind,  would  make  strong  flocks  for  the  mountainsides, 
and  cattle,  short  horned  and  deep  chested;  and  he  sent 
in  charge  of  them  an  Englishman  whose  skill  with 
stock  would  be  of  use.  Wheatham  was  begged  to 
stay  on,  though  his  work  on  the  house  was  done. 

It  was  in  Paris  that  Alice,  fresh  from  a  glittering 
shop  and  with  eyes  dazzled  by  brilliant  beauty,  com- 
plained :  "  You  have  never  given  me  a  wedding 
present." 

Jenifer  was  looking  from  the  window.  A  man  in  the 
street  below  was  beating  his  horse  mercilessly,  and 
Jenifer  was  furious.  He  knew  scarce  a  word  of  the 
language,  and  should  he  do  what  he  longed  to  do,  the 
street  crowd  might  be  startled.  He  scarcely  heard 
what  Alice  said. 

"Haven't  I?"  he  asked  absently;  Alice  thought, 
carelessly. 

"  No,  you  have  not;  and  I  want  it  now." 

Jenifer  turned  to  look  at  her  with  tolerant  good 
humor.  "  It's  too  late,"  he  declared,  a  gleam  of  laughter 
at  her  vexation  in  his  eyes. 


Jenifer  61 

"  It's  never  too  late  to  do  what  has  not  been  done 
at  all." 

"  Alice,"  he  teased,  "  you  are  spoiled." 

She  flirted  away,  but  threw  him  a  glance  over  her 
shoulder.  Of  course  she  was  spoiled.  This  existence 
was  as  delightful  to  her  as  a  dream. 

"  I  always  intended  to  give  you  something  by  which 
you  might  remember  —  that  is,  if  you  need  it,"  he  added 
with  a  lazy  laugh,  looking  straight  at  her,  her  supple 
figure  and  lace  gown,  her  head  and  slender  neck. 

"  I  will  do  so  now,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  What  —  what  will  it  be  ?  "  Alice  clasped  her  hands 
tightly,  and  leaned  forward  coaxingly. 

Jenifer  laughed  at  the  flash  of  eagerness.  "  I  will 
tell  you  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow !     That  is  too  long  to  wait." 

"  You  will  have  to  endure  it."  He  came  a  step 
nearer.  The  red  on  her  cheeks  and  the  flash  in  her 
eyes  brightened  a  face  that  had  begun  to  be  a  trifle 
listless.  "  You  are  no  such  baby." 

"  I  ?  "  She  rarely  remembered  she  was  the  elder. 
Jenifer's  gravity  and  masterful  manner  levelled  the 
years  between.  Now  she  resented  the  remembrance 
and  whirled  away  petulantly  from  the  room. 

Still,  her  soul  was  possessed  with  wonder  as  to  what 
the  gift  would  be.  She  recalled  the  baubles  she  had 
most  openly  longed  for,  weighing  her  desire  for  each. 
She  remembered  the  things  of  which  she  had  not  spoken, 
but  at  which  she  had  gazed  longingly,  till  fretful  waiting 
was  maddening  to  her. 

But  the  gift  was  not  received.     Jenifer  fussed  over 


62  Jenifer 

"  A  dog-gone  country  where  they  don't  know  how  to  do 
anything ;  "  and  Alice,  always  in  awe  of  his  taciturnity, 
would  not  question.  Yet  as  she  waited,  the  greatness 
of  the  thing  she  was  to  receive  grew  in  her  mind,  and 
it  wore  always  one  guise,  —  the  sparkle  of  rich  jewelry. 
She  had  begun  to  doubt  only  its  setting  and  its  hue. 

Then  Jenifer  came  in  one  day  at  dusk,  and  a  glance 
at  his  cleared  face  reassured  her.  She  sprang  from  the 
sofa  where,  in  spite  of  her  beruffled  gown,  she  had 
been  lounging,  and  ran  up  to  him. 

"  You  have  it  ?  "  she  cried,  her  hands  clasped  on 
his  arm.  Tall  as  she  was,  her  head  reached  but  beyond 
his  shoulder.  "  You  have  it  ?  " 

Jenifer's  laugh  and  the  delight  in  his  eyes  answered 
her.  "  What  is  it  ? "  with  impatient  running  of  her 
hand  across  his  breast  to  see  which  pocket  bulged  the 
widest. 

"  Here  1  "  He  unbuttoned  his  coat,  and  took  from 
an  inner  pocket  a  stiff  and  red-sealed  paper.  "  Wait !  " 
The  thrill  in  his  voice  kept  her  still.  "  Wait  till  I  get  a 
light.  No,"  though  his  hand  crept  out  to  hers,  as  she 
pushed  against  the  table  and  the  heavy  perfume  of 
her  hair  and  garments  was  in  his  face,  while,  with  slow 
deliberate  movements  which  set  her  aquiver  with  im- 
patience, his  free  hand  lighted  the  wick  and  flared  up 
the  lamp. 

"  Now,"  he  cried  exultantly,  as  he  flung  the  stiff 
folded  paper  down  on  the  table  before  her. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Alice  weakly. 

"  Look !  "  He  leaned  above  her,  ready  to  laugh 
when  he  saw  her  delight. 


Jenifer  63 

Alice  picked  up  the  parchment  gingerly,  as  if  afraid 
to  touch  even  with  her  finger-tips  its  red  seals. 

"  Open  it.      Don't  be  afraid." 

She  took  no  hint  from  the  thrill  in  Jenifer's  voice. 
She  was  cold  with  fury  at  this  —  this  cheat.  What 
did  she  want  with  documents  ?  Jewels  to  glitter  as 
they  ran  through  her  fingers,  to  sparkle  beneath  the 
light,  to  gleam  upon  her  breast,  —  those  she  wished. 

"  Read  it."    Jenifer's  voice  grew  a  shade  impatient. 

Her  fingers  fumbled  with  the  folds  and  her  intelligence 
gleaned  slowly  from  the  verbiage  a  meaning.  "  What 
is  this  ?  I  don't  understand,"  she  vowed  hotly. 

"  Read  it  again.  See  for  yourself."  Jenifer's  voice 
was  again  teasing.  He  was  so  sure  of  her  joy,  when 
once  she  understood. 

"  It  says  —  The  idea !  You  haven't  done  that  ? 
You  haven't  given  me  —  I  don't  want  it.  What  made 
you  think  of  it  ?  It  would  be  mine  anyway  —  part  of 
it,"  she  flung  out  with  brutal  plainness. 

"  Alice,"  Jenifer's  face  was  as  white  as  the  marble 
beneath  his  hand,  "I  —  I  always  thought  a  woman 
should  own  a  home.  I  have  given  you  the  house  and 
quarters  on  The  Place  and  all  they  hold.  This  deed 
makes  them  yours,"  he  added  proudly. 

"  Pshaw ! "  She  flung  the  parchment  from  her. 
The  stiff  paper  whizzed  across  the  table,  cutting  at  his 
finger-tips,  and  fell  at  his  feet. 

Somehow  Jenifer  had  learned  —  or  had  he  inherited 
the  idea  ?  —  that  the  only  thing  to  do  with  an  angry 
woman  is  to  leave  her  alone.  He  had  offered  her  a 
share  in  what  he  considered  the  most  precious  possession 


64  Jenifer 

of  the  world,  and  thus  she  valued  it.  He  turned  from 
her  angry  eyes  and  the  tongue  that  soon  would  have 
found  words  aplenty,  and  went  out  of  the  room  and 
away  from  the  house. 

He  was  sufficient  to  himself,  too  much  so  for  the  peace 
of  the  shallow  woman  he  had  married;  and  he  could 
always  find  his  own  quiet  amusements.  When  he 
came  back  the  lamp  was  darkened,  Alice  asleep,  the 
paper  gone. 

It  was  from  this,  or,  perhaps,  because  they  had 
been  too  long  away  and  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  Con- 
tinental ideas  had  touched  her;  or,  it  may  be,  because 
Alice  had  become  too  used  to  her  pleasures  and  looked 
abroad  to  add  to  them,  but  from  this  fit  of  temper  a 
change  crept  into  her  manner. 

She  was  no  longer  so  unconscious  that  the  look  of  a 
man  who  passed  her  in  the  street  was  unnoticed,  nor  so 
clearly  pleased  at  some  open-air  cafe  that  the  pleasure 
was  an  absorption,  nor  so  enwrapped  by  the  glitter  of 
a  window-show  that  the  loiterer  watching  her  passed 
on.  It  was  long  before  Jenifer  did,  or  could,  take  notice 
of  it,  for  these  things  were  too  foreign  to  his  ideas  of 
womankind.  When  he  did  — 

They  were  in  Berlin.  The  man  was  an  officer. 
Jenifer  had  noticed  him  as  they  drove  under  the  arched 
lindens  to  watch  the  throng  of  walk  and  drive.  The 
fellow  stood  well  out  near  the  curb,  and  there  was 
something  in  his  well  set-up  figure  and  in  his  blondness 
which  overshadowed  even  his  self-conscious  look. 

Jenifer  looked  at  the  man  because  he  was  a  pleasant 
sight  and  he  had  already  noticed  his  glitter  and  gilt 


Jenifer  65 

across  from  them  at  a  restaurant.  There  was  some 
thing  in  the  German's  regard  which  Jenifer  termed 
insolence  and  attributed  to  notice  of  their  strangeness 
to  the  customs  of  the  country.  A  week  later  Jenifer 
saw  him  talking  to  Alice  on  a  bench  far  back  from  the 
drive. 

Jenifer's  wife  sat  very  still,  with  lowered  lashes  and 
pleased  lips.  She  trailed  the  point  of  her  parasol  through 
the  grasses  at  her  feet.  Jenifer,  behind  a  swift  horse, 
saw,  and  drove  on.  He  would  make  no  show  where 
the  world  could  see. 

Half  a  mile  ahead  he  turned  a  loop  of  the  drive  and 
came  home  another  way.  He  sought  the  services  of 
man  and  maid  in  the  house  where  he  lodged;  and  if 
the  morning  were  fine  and  his  wife  late  from  her  walk, 
it  gave  him  the  more  time. 

When  Alice  came  in  with  flushed  cheeks  and  bright- 
ened eyes,  she  opened  the  door  upon  rooms  stripped  of 
the  things  that  were  hers  and  Jenifer's.  A  strapped 
trunk  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  through  the 
door  beyond  she  could  see  others. 

"  What  is  this  ?    What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  gasped. 

Jenifer  was  taciturn,  but  there  were  times  when  he 
spoke  straight  to  the  purpose.  "  We  are  going  home," 
he  said  briefly. 

"  Home !  When  ?  "  The  words  choked  her.  She 
grasped  at  the  knob  of  the  door  which  she  had  closed 
behind  her. 

"  Now,"  briefly,  and  most  matter-of-fact.  "  We  have 
time  for  luncheon  first,"  he  added  calmly. 

"  I  can't.    I  can't  do  it.    I  won't.    We  were  to  go  to 


66  Jenifer 

Paris  again.  You  said  we  would.  I  wanted  —  Who 
put  my  clothes  in  those  trunks  ?  Who  dared  to  touch 
them?" 

At  her  shrilling  Jenifer  looked  up.  He  was  so  clearly 
and  genuinely  amused  that  the  words  died  in  her 
throat.  "  I  have  nothing  to  travel  in,"  she  added  help- 
lessly. 

His  glance  swept  her.  "  Your  dress  is  charming," 
he  assured  her;  and  if  his  tone  held  a  tinge  of  sarcasm 
he  spoke  truth.  Alice,  catching  sight  of  herself  in  the 
mirror  which  reflected  the  dark  door,  her  slender  figure 
and  angry,  frightened  face  against  it,  was  not  too  furious 
to  feel  a  thrill  of  pleased  vanity.  The  high  head  and 
angry  eyes  and  blazing  cheeks  were  prettier  far  than 
dull  pallor.  She  flirted  out  of  the  room. 

"You  cannot  get  a  berth,"  she  declared  angrily  on 
the  stair. 

"  A  ship  sails  from  Amsterdam  to-morrow.  I  have 
telegraphed." 

"You  know  it  will  be  impossible  for  us  to  engage 
passage  now." 

"  We  might,"  said  Jenifer  lightly.  "  We  might  be 
successful;  come  on.  We  have  just  time  for  luncheon." 
Alice  leaned  against  the  banister;  and  he,  tall  and 
straight-hipped  and  with  determined  eyes,  towered 
above  her.  "  This  time  of  the  year  we  might  get  a 
berth,"  he  again  assured  her;  and  he  was  right.  The 
second  morning  found  them  on  the  Atlantic. 

When  they  neared  New  York,  for  which  Alice  longed, 
the  thought  of  the  city  was  hateful  to  Jenifer.  He  had 
gazed  his  full  at  other  lands  and  longed  passionately 


Jenifer  67 

for  that  part  of  the  earth  which  was  his  own;  and  there 
was  no  gainsaying  his  desire.  The  train  swept  them 
with  express  speed  across  wide  and  tide-swept  marshes, 
through  towns  and  cities,  across  deep  rivers,  along  flat 
lands  where  the  water  was  always  in  sight,  across  roll- 
ing and  barren  country,  and  up,  up  to  higher  hills  and 
bolder  slopes.  The  sun  lay  brilliant  on  fields  whose 
breadth  and  wildness  delighted  Jenifer,  sick  of  old 
world  trimness. 

It  was  spring,  and  the  young  wheat  grew  thick  in 
the  hollows  and  thinned  upon  the  swells  till  the  red 
earth  showed  through.  Cattle  strayed  over  the  dried 
stems  of  last  year's  grasses  while  the  new  was  green 
beneath  their  feet.  Jenifer,  straight  in  his  seat,  watching 
the  world  through  which  they  sped,  felt  the  blood 
pounding  in  his  veins. 

Chestnut-trees  darkened  the  steel  rails.  Through 
the  flickering  shadows  of  the  woods  flamed  the  honey- 
suckle, pink-lipped  and  tendrilled.  Violets  stole  to  the 
cross-ties,  and  blue  spread  the  wild  forget-me-nots  like 
rugs  for  prayer,  for  worshipping  of  the  spring.  On 
the  fences,  wound  in  and  out,  poised  the  redbird,  and 
flitted  the  bluebird,  and  sang  the  mocking-bird,  his 
song  shrilling  above  the  engine's  beat  and  the  wheels' 
steady  hum. 

The  land  tilted  higher.  Where  it  crested  it  showed 
red  against  the  arch  of  blue.  Deep-cut,  the  roads 
wound  between  the  fields  and  lay  upon  the  hills  like 
ribbons  leading  brilliantly  to  the  sky. 

Home !  Home !  Far  in  the  hill-folds  was  the  cabin 
where  he  had  been  born ;  between  the  circling  mountain 


68  Jenifer 

ranges  was  the  house  he  was  to  call  his  own:  and  the 
climb  grew  steeper. 

Trestles  with  tree-tops  below;  sharp  grades;  a  run  of 
land  newly  overgrown  by  thickets;  a  dip  between  red 
hills;  a  climb;  and  a  slow  breathing  at  the  engine's 
throat.  "  We  are  there,"  cried  Jenifer.  Alice  was 
half- asleep. 

When  she  came  out  on  the  platform  she  was  sud- 
denly alert.  The  picture  pleased,  —  a  number  of  men, 
a  scattered  leisurely  crowd,  an  air  of  ease. 

Jenifer  caught  sight  of  the  Englishman  he  had  sent 
on,  and  Alice  saw  approaching  them  a  broad-shouldered, 
sturdy  young  man  whose  top-boots  and  stiff  hat  and 
light  clothes  she  did  not  at  once  construe  into  livery. 
She  was  astonished  at  Jenifer's  commands.  Then 
she  understood.  The  crimson  swept  her  face.  She 
was  come  to  her  own.  She  saw  it  in  the  splendid  horses 
and  the  shining  carriage,  and  she  sprang  in  and  settled 
back  luxuriously.  Her  face  was  bright  as  she  pulled 
her  skirts  aside  to  make  room  for  Jenifer;  but  he  did  not 
see  the  movement.  The  Englishman  had  sprung  up 
to  the  driver's  seat,  and  Jenifer  was  looking  at  him. 

"  The  other  side,"  he  commanded  briefly;  and  the 
reins  were  in  his  own  hands,  the  tug  of  them  between 
his  fingers. 

God !  What  it  was  to  be  alive  1  The  town  with  its 
lines  of  lights  was  behind  them.  The  horses  sped  like 
the  wind.  Jenifer  breathed  them  at  a  stream,  and  kept 
them  to  a  slow  pace  up  the  long  hill  beyond.  The  air, 
pure  from  wide  spaces,  blew  against  his  cheek.  Dogs 
barked  from  the  wayside  huts ;  the  cattle  of  the  cabins 


Jenifer  69 

were  straying  slowly  homeward  with  low  calls  of  con- 
tentment and  lazy  breathings  of  satisfaction;  sturdier 
houses  stood  in  their  screen  of  trees;  the  light  lay  red 
and  clear  behind  the  western  mountains;  but  the  miles 
stretched  on. 

The  woman  on  the  seat  behind  Jenifer  grasped  the 
cushions  by  her  side,  and  wondered  how  far  the  wild 
road  led ;  but  she  would  not  ask. 

On  by  plowed  fields,  and  fields  where  the  sedge 
sighed  low  in  the  evening  wind ;  splashing  through  shal- 
low streams,  and  up.  The  evening  star  stood  clear 
and  white  in  the  green  breadth  of  the  west;  below  it, 
darkened  the  mountains.  How  they  crowded!  On 
either  hand  their  tops  swept  far  and  blue,  and,  to  the 
woman,  desolate. 

There  were  no  houses  now,  but  wide  fields  and  the 
dim  and  dark  and  dusky  points  of  forests  running 
towards  the  road,  and  somewhere  a  night-bird  calling. 
Jenifer  curved  the  horses,  with  a  splendid  sweep,  into 
a  narrow  lane. 

"  Here  we  are !  "  he  called  back  gaily.  "  This  is  the 
home  road." 

Who  could  have  told  Jenifer  that  he  could  feel  as  he 
did  ?  And  had  they,  would  he  have  believed  ?  He 
could  not  speak.  The  scent  of  the  wild-cherry  blossoms 
blew  down  the  lane  and  the  way  lay  straight.  Well 
that  it  did  for  it  was  all  a  mist  to  him. 

Through  a  wood  of  oak  and  chestnut  they  sped,  and 
out  where  the  way  wound  to  a  slow-heaving  crest  against 
the  sky-line,  where  the  stars  were  thick;  very  slowly 
now,  for  over  that  land-swell  was  The  Place. 


7O  Jenifer 

Suddenly  the  horses  took  it  with  a  spurt  of  speed- 
Jenifer  left  them  to  their  way,  to  the  sweep  around  the 
orchard,  through  the  big  gate,  —  the  lights  of  the 
house  shining  brilliantly  across  the  yard,  -•—  and  along 
the  lane,  which  circled  between  the  locusts  and  the  lilac 
hedge  and  led  to  the  stables,  up  to  the  stile.  Such  had 
been  the  fashion  of  the  old  road,  and  the  artist  had  not 
marred  it. 

Wheatham  stood  on  the  broad  top  of  the  stile  waiting 
for  them.  Such  a  night  for  home-coming !  The  beat  of 
the  horses'  hoofs  in  the  lane,  the  scent  of  the  lilacs  they 
must  pass,  the  arching  locusts,  the  stars;  and  far  off 
and  dim,  like  a  vision  dreamed  of,  the  misty  sweep  of 
mountains  1 


VIII 

WHEATHAM  had  left  the  moss  in  the  crannies  of 
the  brick  floor  of  the  porch  and  the  narcissus  in  the 
grass,  the  lilac  hedges  and  the  old  roses  of  moss  and 
damask,  and  the  flowers  by  the  garden  path  —  beyond 
it  was  the  place  of  graves,  brick-walled  and  tree- 
shadowed.  The  brick  arcades  from  house  to  kitchen 
were  undisturbed,  as  were  those  of  the  porches  before 
the  quarters. 

Inside  the  house  he  had  thought  perfect,  he  watched 
its  mistress  coming  slowly  down  the  stair  the  morning 
after  her  arrival.  Jenifer  was  on  the  porch. 

An  hour  before  Wheatham  had  been  striding  with 
him  across  the  wet  grass.  Jenifer  wanted  to  know  how 
the  sheep  he  had  sent  over  fared;  what  colts  had  been 
foaled,  and  what  cattle  bred;  what  fields  had  been 
planted  in  corn,  and  where  the  wheat  grew.  He  wished 
to  see  what  sort  of  housing  the  range  of  quarters,  back 
of  the  yard  but  opening  on  it,  had  provided  for  the 
Englishman  and  the  servants  and  to  examine  the  bachelor 
quarters  Wheatham  had  set  up  in  one  of  the  houses 
detached  from  the  range,  but  built  like  it. 

Back  of  all  this  eagerness  was  a  rapture  of  possession. 
Jenifer  leaned  against  a  rounded  brick  pillar  of  the 
porch  and  kept  his  lips  firm  shut  for  fear  of  the  sound 


72  Jenifer 

which  might  break  through.  It  would  be  elemental; 
and,  being  man,  Jenifer  kept  tight-lipped.  His  breath 
heaved  slowly.  His  hands  were  clasped  behind  his 
back. 

Wheatham,  in  the  door,  saw  him  —  and  her. 

Alice  came  down  slowly.  Her  hand  was  white  on 
the  dark  rail  as  it  slid  along  it.  At  the  landing 
where  the  filmy  curtains  were  pulled  aside,  the  clear 
glass  raised,  and  a  couch  beneath  the  sill  besought  a 
look  at  that  long  sweep  of  blue,  she  stopped.  Her 
glance  scarce  touched  upon  the  outside  world,  and 
her  disdainful  look  swept  the  dark  panelled  walls  below, 
the  heavy  mahogany  couch,  the  table  with  its  gleaming 
leaf,  the  shine  of  brass  and  the  glint  of  heavy  china. 
But  she  caught  a  gleam  upon  the  wall.  "  Oh,"  she 
cried  delightedly,  ' '  a  telephone !  " 

Wheatham  swept  her  a  bow.  "  Did  you  think  we 
were  cut  off  from  civilization  ?  "  demanded  he. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  It  looks  it,"  she  said 
beneath  her  breath,  as  she  stood  on  the  last  step  of  the 
stair. 

Resentment  and  illness  had  broken  the  calm  pretti- 
ness  of  Alice's  face.  The  artist  liked  her  better  so. 
The  Frenchy  gown  of  white  swirled  about  her  feet  and 
lay,  a  frill  of  it,  on  the  polished  step ;  her  fair  hair  was 
not  so  exaggerated  by  its  piling;  the  touch  of  purple 
beneath  her  eyes  emphasized  the  iris's  coloring;  and 
her  height  was  well  carried. 

Wheatham,  for  the  hour,  was  hopeful  that  he  had 
misjudged  her.  He  crossed  the  hall  to  talk  to  her. 
He  would  tell  her  again  of  that  which  must  be  common 


Jenifer  73 

interest,  —  his  delightful  search  for  the  furniture  and 
his  work  in  having  it  restored;  and  he  hoped  it  was 
as  she  liked. 

Alice  cut  him  short.  She  had  scarcely  listened  to 
him  the  night  before  and  had  kept  silent  from  weariness, 
and  because  she  had  nothing  to  say. 

"  Whom  can  you  talk  to  ?  "  she  interrupted,  with 
an  eager  gesture  towards  the  telephone. 

Wheatham  pointed  to  the  book  which  hung  upon 
the  wall. 

"  Good  gracious !  "  cried  Alice  petulantly,  as  she 
whirled  the  leaves.  "  I  don't  know  a  soul,  of  course. 
It  will  do  me  no  good.  But  —  Oh,  could  I  —  could  I 
talk  to  any  one  in  Baltimore  ?  "  she  demanded  breath- 
lessly. At  the  back  she  had  found  a  list  of  cities. 

"  It  is  at  your  service,"  Wheatham  assured  her  with 
twinkling  eyes.  "  New  York,  Chicago,  Atlanta;  I  am 
afraid  to  venture  farther,"  with  mock  solemnity. 

"  I  shall  try  —  I  might  talk  to  some  one  at  home." 

"  You  had  better  wait  till  you  have  had  your  break- 
fast. It's  a  tedious  job  getting  anybody.  Come,  see 
the  world  from  your  door." 

Alice  stepped  out  where  the  passing  of  many  feet 
had  worn  smooth  hollows  in  the  marble  and  on  the 
bricks.  Jenifer  turned  slowly.  She  could  see  the  bright 
line  of  his  shining  eyes,  his  reddened  cheek,  and  his 
straight-set  mouth.  Their  glances  met  and  crossed, 
and  both  looked  out  across  the  rolling  land. 

On  a  far-off  hill,  amidst  thick  trees,  showed  the  dim 
outlines  of  a  house.  The  thin  smoke  curled  above  its 
chimney.  "  Who  lives  there  ?  "  asked  Alice  suddenly. 


74  Jenifer 

"There?  "Jenifer  turned  to  look.  "  Do  you  know  ?  w 
he  asked  Wheatham  carelessly. 

The  artist  named  the  owner. 

"  Don't  you  know  them  ?  "  demanded  Alice  sharply. 

"I?  Oh,  yes;  the  name,"  said  Jenifer  calmly.  "But 
I  didn't  know  any  of  the  Grenwalds  had  bought  that 
place,"  he  added  with  an  easy  laugh. 

"And  you  don't  know  the  people  there?"  she 
persisted. 

"  No." 

"  Are  there  any  neighbors  nearer  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  nearest." 

"  The  nearest,"  cried  Alice  shrilly;  "  and  you  don't 
even  know  them !  Why  —  " 

"  There  is  the  bell,"  said  Jenifer  shortly.  "  Break- 
fast is  ready,  I  suppose." 

It  took  all  that  morning  for  Alice  to  call  up  the  distant 
city  and  get  the  person  with  whom  she  wished  to  talk; 
and  while  she  waited  she  sauntered  idly  into  the  big 
rooms,  and  out  again.  How  high  were  the  «'*3B»y 
above  her  head;  and  how  insignificant  they  made  her 
feel!  How  heavy  and  dark  the  old  furniture!  And 
the  house  was  filled  with  it,  —  the  dining-room,  this 
parlor  which  opened  into  it,  the  library  across  the  hall. 
That  was  the  worst  of  all,  that  room  with  its  musty, 
time-stained  books,  its  deep  window-sills,  its  wide  but 
small-paned  windows,  its  black  fireplace. 

But  there,  though  Alice  did  not  know  it,  the  artist 
had  achieved  his  dream.  Lingering  in  that  still  silence 
he  had  wrought  out  the  thing  he  longed  to  do  and  sent 
it  forth,  and  the  world  gave  it  homage.  On  the  sueugth 


Jenifer  75 

of  that  praise,  other  visions  had  been  born  and  shaped; 
and  Wheatham  worked,  where  he  had  taken  quarter, 
slowly  and  blissfully. 

His  newspaper  work  had  taught  him  that  the  pyro- 
technic product,  blaze  it  ever  so  brightly,  is  but  ash 
against  the  sky,  and  he  thanked  God  that  his  success 
was  such  as  to  be  reason  for  work  and  had  not  sated 
alike  his  public  and  himself. 

Of  this  secret  which  the  solemn  room  held,  —  solemn 
till  the  man  or  woman's  self  was  in  accord  with  it,  — 
of  the  glowing  words  written  there,  of  the  great  deeds 
planned,  and  the  history  which  had  had  its  beginnings 
by  that  hearth  what  possible  knowledge  had  Alice? 
Only  the  sunlit  hall  with  the  wind  blowing  through 
and  the  telephone  upon  the  wall  was  bearable  to  her; 
and  across  the  field  the  only  hopeful  sign  she  saw  was 
the  stretch  of  the  tall  gray  poles,  the  cross  of  their  fire- 
bearing  tops,  and  the  shine  of  the  single  wire  which  spun 
away.  She  heard  the  singing  of  the  wind  against  its 
tautness,  and  felt  that  but  for  it  the  silence  of  the  porch 
would  be  past  endurance. 

Impatiently,  once  and  again,  she  set  the  handle 
whirling  only  to  hear  a  tired :  "  Can't  get  them  at  the 
other  end  of  the  line.  Call  you  when  I  do."  Central 
had  begun  to  wonder  wearily  what  this  new-comer  would 
prove  to  be. 

Alice  wandered  up-stairs  to  her  own  room,  or  suite, 
as  Wheatham  had  designed  it. 

The  servants,  she  had  already  found,  finished  their 
duties  in  the  house  and  disappeared.  From  the  quarters 
came  now  the  sound  of  laughter  for  which  she  longed. 


76  Jenifer 

Alice  leaned  head  and  shoulders  from  the  window, 
listening  wistfully;  and  as  she  gazed,  discontent  already 
on  her  face,  the  Englishman  came  to  his  door  and 
looked  across  and  up. 

The  clothes  of  his  calling  gave  him  distinction  where 
such  were  not  frequent;  they  showed  his  sturdy  figure 
and  square  shoulders,  and  his  ruddiness  was  comely. 
Before  she  was  aware,  the  mistress  of  the  house  leaned 
farther  out  and  smiled  warmly. 

The  Englishman's  hand  went  to  his  cap.  He  turned 
quickly  and  there  was  but  the  blackness  of  his  open 
door. 

Alice  drew  back  frowning,  but  she  had  time  to  feel 
angry  neither  with  herself  nor  him.  The  telephone  bell 
was  ringing  in  the  hall  below. 

She  ran  down  the  stair.  "  Yes,  yes,"  she  breathed 
into  the  tube. 

"  Eugenia !  "  she  cried.  Her  younger  sister  was  at 
the  other  end  of  the  line. 

"  Yes,  it's  me !  Scared  were  you  ?  "  laughing  loudly. 
"  Didn't  know  I  was  coming  ?  Neither  did  I.  Yes, 
I'm  home."  Her  voice  dropped  into  an  inflection  which 
carried  across  the  miles. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  Carriages  ?  Of  course !  Big 
house  ?  Tremendous.  Servants  ?  "  answering  the  rapid 
questions.  "  Oh,  yes."  And  then  sounded  into  the 
woman's  ear  a  thin  ecstatic  "  Oh !  " 

How  hot  had  seemed  the  bricks  to  Eugenia's  feet  as 
she  went  down  the  street,  how  blinding  the  heat  that 
beat  against  the  wall !  How  wonderful  it  was  to  hear 
of  such  great  fortune ! 


Jenifer  77 

"  I  am  coming  to  see  you,"  sounded  the  voice  along 
the  line. 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  cried  Alice  fervently. 

"  Of  course." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  When  I  have  my  holiday." 

"  How  soon  is  that  ?  "  impatiently. 

"  August." 

"Oh!" 

A  laugh,  a  few  short  sentences,  —  there  is  at  first 
little  to  say  when  people  have  been  long  apart,  —  and 
the  talk  soon  ended.  But  it  gave  Alice  something  to 
think  of  and  plan  for,  that  and  the  unpacking  of  her 
trunks. 

Jenifer  had  never  an  idle  moment.  Crops  and  fences 
and  woods,  pasture  and  cattle,  stable  and  horses;  and 
his  knowledge  of  them  adjusted,  Jenifer  began  to  see 
that  there  were  human  tangles  at  hand. 

Wheatham  was  clearly  restless.  Now  that  the  master 
of  the  house  had  come  and  the  artist's  work  for  him 
was  done,  Wheatham  was  wondering  if  he  must  not  be 
gone.  He  stammered  something  of  it  to  Jenifer. 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  "  asked  Jenifer  so  calmly 
that  Wheatham  was  deceived. 

"Where?"  And  then  bluntly,  "The  Lord  only 
knows." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  this  ?  " 

"  Matter !  "  Wheatham  again  repeated.  He  looked 
about  him.  Two  houses  of  one  room  each  had  been 
detached  by  the  builder  from  the  range  of  quarters. 
The  Englishman  had  one;  Wheatham  the  other.  No 


78  Jenifer 

furnishings  had  been  allowed  in  this,  only  odd  bits  of 
furniture  and  cleanly  comfort;  and,  sidewise  to  the 
window  and  thrusting  half-across  the  room,  a  huge 
table,  wide  and  strong,  and  easy  to  elbow.  The  land 
sloped  steeply  outside  the  window  and  swelled  high 
again  beyond  the  narrow  valley,  where  a  stream  sang 
in  the  bottom.  A  point  of  woods  dipped  to  the  water, 
and  on  the  farthest  line  of  vision  were  haze  and  mist 
and  mountain  tops. 

Wheatham  wondered  dully  if  he  could  ever  accom- 
plish anything  anywhere  else.  He  was  hot  with  anger 
at  himself  for  so  loving  what  was  not  his  nor  ever 
would  be,  except  that  beauty  and  inspiration  of  it  which 
he  had  caught  in  spirit. 

"  You  are  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Oh,  God  knows,  yes." 

"  I  am." 

The  eager  flush  ran  over  Wheatham's  face.  "  But 
perhaps  your  wife  —  with  her  —  you  want  no  one  else 
about,"  he  blurted. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  Jenifer's  amazement  was  so  certain 
that  it  amused.  His  laugh  broke  the  tension  between 
them. 

"  Then  —  then  you  must  allow  for  my  keep." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  is  enough  ?  "  asked  Jenifer, 
coming  up  to  him  as  Wheatham  leaned  against  the 
window-frame. 

"  But  it's  yours." 

"  And  yours  —  what  you  want  of  it." 

"  No."  Wheatham  was  firm.  He  named  a  sum. 
"  I  shall  pay  it  to  your  wife,"  he  insisted. 


Jenifer  79 

Jenifer,  with  a  remembrance  of  Alice's  love  for 
money,  her  passion  for  handling  it  and  spending  it, 
laughed.  "  It  will  suit  her  well  enough,"  he  declared 
lightly. 

"  And  me  also.      I  shall  do  it." 

Jenifer  let  it  stand.  His  hand,  for  a  second,  fell 
firm  and  warm  on  the  artist's  shoulder  before  Jenifer 
left  the  brick-walled  room. 

Yet  Wheatham  was  angered  with  himself  for  this 
passion  of  place  which  had  eaten  into  him.  Why  had 
it  become  so  much  to  him  ?  The  poet  part  of  him  might 
have  answered,  and  comforted  him. 

It  might  have  told  him  that  out  of  ail  loves  two  primal 
ones  forever  remain  —  the  love  of  the  earth,  the  love 
of  God.  Out  of  the  earth  He  made  man;  into  the 
image  He  breathed  His  spirit :  and  like  still  calls  to  like. 


IX 

BEN  had  developed  a  bitter  rivalry  towards  the 
Englishman.  He  hated  him  with  that  curious  disdain 
the  negro  feels  when  he  comes  in  contact  with  the  white 
man  who  sees  in  dusky  skin  and  racial  qualities  no 
signal  of  inferiority.  He  hated  him  for  his  science, 
where  he  himself  had  only  instinct,  and  but  for  the 
Englishman's  obtuseness  and  his  acceptance  of  Ben's 
surliness  as  a  part  of  the  strangeness  of  a  race  with 
which  he  had  newly  come  in  contact,  there  would 
have  been  trouble. 

No  one,  not  Wheatham  himself,  had  so  rejoiced  at 
Jenifer's  coming,  as  Ben. 

"  Lawd,"  he  said  to  Jenifer,  as  Ben  followed  him 
across  the  fields,  "  now  you'll  see  some  sense  in  de  way 
things  goes  on  dis  place.  Dat  man !  "  It  was  the 
negro's  scornful  phrase  for  the  Englishman,  and  his 
ideas  of  the  other's  management  were  unspeakable. 
Ben  shook  his  head  and  pursed  his  lips,  but  could 
find  no  word  to  express  what  he  thought.  Besides, 
they  had  reached  the  paddock. 

Jenifer  leaned  his  arms    on  the   high   topmost   rail 

and  looked  with  delighted  eyes  on  the  roll  of  green  land, 

the  sparkling  stream  at  the  bottom,  the  tall  grass  that 

well-nigh  hid  the  water,  and  the  cluster  of  thin-legged 

80 


Jenifer  81 

arid  slim-bodied  colts  which  crowded  close  for  com- 
pany. 

"  Dat  colt,"  vowed  Ben,  as  one  turned  his  head  and 
arched  his  neck  and  looked  back  at  them,  "  dat  colt 
he's  turned  three  years,  an'  ain't  nobody  dare  tetch 
him.  When  dey  does  dyar'll  be  de  debbil  to  pay  sho. 
Talk  'bout  nobody,  light  weight  nor  none,  ebbah  puttin' 
a  leg  arcross  a  hoss's  back  tell  he  is  full-growed!  no, 
sah!  De  time  to  begin  is  early,  boy  on  a  colt's 
back  fetching  him  'long  to  watah,  wid  a  kick  on  his 
ribs  to  make  him  go  straight,  dat's  de  way  to  gentle 
him. 

"  An'  dat  man,  dis  is  his  way.  Paddock,  he  call  dis 
place.  Lawd !  why  don't  he  turn  de  colts  out  an'  git 
'em  room,  an'  let  'em  loose.  Dey'd  git  up  an'  grow 
same  lak  de  grass." 

"  Looks  as  if  these  fellows  were  doing  all  right," 
declared  Jenifer  lazily. 

"  Dey's  ol'  ernuff,"  grumbled  Ben. 

"  What  horse  is  that  ? "  demanded  Jenifer  quickly, 
as  a  bay  trotted  out  from  the  crowd  to  thrust  her  muzzle 
into  the  stream. 

"  Dat  ?  Dat's  Lightfoot,"  in  a  tone  of  intense  satis- 
faction. "  An'  she's  de  onlies'  one  dat's  got  a  name. 
He  done  had  her  writ  down  in  de  book." 

"  Registered  ?     Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sah,"  emphatically.  "  Sire  Dixie,  dam  Beauty," 
Ben  repeated  glibly. 

"  Ever  been  ridden  ?  " 

"  Dat  man  done  his  hop-skippin'  what  de  calls  ridin* 
on  her  back.  Ebry  time  he  riz  up  in  de  stirrups  you 


82  Jenifer 

could  view  de  mountains  'twixt  him  an*  de  saddle. 
Fac',  "  at  Jenifer's  shake  of  silent  laughter. 

"  Bring  a  saddle  here,"  commanded  Jenifer,  as  he 
turned  his  arm  upon  the  rail. 

"  Sah !  "     Ben's  mouth  dropped  wide  open. 

"  Bring  a  saddle  and  bridle  down  here;  I'm  going 
to  try  her." 

"Whar?" 

"  Here,  anywhere;  across  the  field."  The  land 
about  the  paddock  was  "  resting." 

"  Dat  I  will.  Dat  I  will."  Ben,  scenting  fun  and  a 
rise  out  of  the  Englishman,  sped  up  the  hill. 

The  fun  was  not  so  furious  as  the  negro  had  expected. 
The  Englishman's  training  of  Lightfoot  had  been  more 
thorough  than  the  negro  gave  him  credit  for;  and,  also, 
Lightfoot 's  nature,  like  her  birth,  was  gentle. 

Her  rearing  and  plunging  were  all  false  starts  to 
what  Ben  looked  for,  perhaps  hoped  for.  His  "  Dyar 
she  goes,"  "  'Fore  de  Lawd !  "  "  Set  tight,"  were  useless, 
if  hilarious,  warnings. 

Over  and  across  the  field  they  circled,  man  fitting 
himself  to  horse  and  horse  to  man.  Jenifer  came  back 
in  easy  lope.  "  Take  her  to  the  stable,"  he  commanded. 

"  Yes;  yes,  sah,"  doubtfully. 

"  I  shall  ride  her,"  declared  Jenifer  succinctly. 

Ben,  racing  with  the  bridle  end  in  hand,  and  Light- 
foot,  keeping  the  rein  loose  as  she  trotted  near,  were 
off.  At  the  stable  door  they  met  the  Englishman.  It 
was  all  that  Ben  desired. 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  that  horse  ?  "  Grame 
demanded  angrily. 


Jenifer  83 

"  Dis  boss  ?  "  Ben's  eyes  were  wide  and  fathomless. 
"  Dis  Marse  Jen'fah's  ridin'  hoss.  He  done  tol'  me  to 
bring  her  up  to  the  stable." 

"  She's  not  safe,"  the  man  blundered  into  saying. 
"  He  can't  —  he  will  not  be  able  to  ride  her." 

"  Hi !  "  said  the  negro,  "  you  ought  to  'a'  been  down 
in  de  fiel'  jes  now.  Lightfoot  went  jes  as  easy,  an' 
Marse  Jen'fah,  he  suttenly  sits  his  hoss  lak  a  gemmen, 
same  as  ef  he  an'  de  saddle  was  made  tergedder,  an' 
de  hoss  'long  'bout  de  same  time.  You  ought  to  V 
seed  'em." 

Ben  chuckled  innocently;  but  he  flashed  a  look  out 
of  the  tail  of  his  eye  as  the  horse  went  by;  and  when 
he  saw  a  redness  of  Grame's  cheeks  which  was  not 
altogether  ruddiness,  he  chuckled  anew  —  but  to  him- 
self. 

Lightfoot  had  come  to  the  stable's  best. 

Jenifer  watched  man  and  horse  till  they  were  over 
the  hill,  then  he  turned  his  back  towards  the  house, 
and  sauntered  slowly.  His  hat  was  low  over  his  eyes, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  Wild  grasses  and  vines  and 
vetches  ran  over  the  furrows.  Where  the  stream  came 
singing  the  grass  was  knee-deep.  Wood-alder  pushed 
out  its  stiff  and  unopened  bloom  above  the  water. 
Ferns  touched  the  ripples  lightly.  But  without  a  look 
at  pools  or  shallows  Jenifer  sprang  over. 

He  was  whistling  softly  to  himself,  whistling  against 
his  memories.  Beyond  the  wood  —  not  a  mile  in 
thickness  —  was  the  cabin  he  remembered.  It  was 
deserted,  and  the  land  about  it  ran  wild;  Jenifer  had 
asked  and  learned.  While  he  was  devoid  of  pride,  he 


84  Jenifer 

was,  also,  bare  of  sentiment;  so  he  would  have  said, 
and  most  others  of  him. 

The  leaves  of  long  past  summers  rustled  under  his 
feet;  those  of  the  year  whispered  softly  overhead.  The 
wood-talk  waked  fleeting  and  ungrasped  thought.  Of 
what  did  it  hint  ?  Jenifer's  brow  was  furrowed ;  his 
gaze  on  the  leaves  beneath  his  feet. 

He  had  been  climbing  steadily.  Here  the  land  crested, 
ran  level  for  a  space,  and  then  was  broken  by  wooded 
gulleys.  A  rift  like  that  a  river  wears  between  bold 
bluffs  was  in  its  midst,  and  narrow  gulleys,  like  short 
streams,  ran  up  from  it.  Pines  grew  about  the  ravines, 
and  drifted  their  needles  upon  the  slopes;  and  the 
winds  had  heaped  them  in  the  hollows. 

The  drifted  chaff  was  dry  and  resinous;  overhead 
the  skies  were  blue,  the  pine-tops  etched  against  them; 
and  hint  of  summer  and  song  of  spring  were  in  their 
slow  rocking.  Jenifer  stood  tense  and  listening.  He 
remembered  that  here  the  best  his  young  boyhood  had 
known  had  been  given  him.  He  had  slid  and  stumbled 
and  made  summer  slides  down  these  gulleys.  He  had 
set  his  traps  here.  He  had  watched  the  birds  through 
all  this  wood.  He  had  come  and  gone  along 
these  paths ;  —  but  it  was  not  the  memory  of  these 
which  haunted  him.  There  had  been  little  either 
lovely  or  happy  in  his  boyhood,  but  this  memory  — 
whatever  its  elusiveness  hinted  of  —  was  warm  and 
bright. 

Jenifer  threw  himself  face  downward  on  the  dry 
chaff,  and  propped  his  chin  in  his  hands.  He  was  glad 
to  be  away  from  the  old  place  and  to  think  of  it.  It 


Jenifer  85 

was  more  than  his  memory,  or  his  anticipation  of  it, 
had  been ;  and  he  could  dream  of  its  possibilities. 

Jenifer  loved  the  earth  enough  to  be  glad  that  the 
legend  of  creation  fashioned  the  first  man  from  it.  It 
was  boon  to  live  upon  it,  and  he  was  willing  to  return 
unto  it  the  elements  of  that  body  which  had  housed  his 
spirit.  Land  and  wood  were  part  of  him.  To  live 
amongst  these,  call  these  his  own,  was  highest  joy. 

But  against  his  content  one  chord  already  jarred. 
He  was  not  blind  to  the  dissatisfaction  in  Alice's  face. 
Man-like  he  believed  that  time  would  efface  it.  He 
was  masterfully  sure  that  he  had  done  right  in  bringing 
her  home;  and  he  had  wondered  every  day  since  he 
had  first  set  foot  upon  the  stile  and  seen  Wheatham's 
face  and  Ben's  beyond  it  and  the  house  more  beautiful 
than  he  remembered  it,  —  he  had  wondered  how,  with 
that  awaiting  him,  he  had  lingered. 

So  he  reasoned  dreamily,  forgetting  the  memory 
which  had  eluded  him.  He  moved  restlessly,  flung  out 
an  arm,  and  hit  upon  something  hard  beneath  the 
leaves.  Looking  carelessly  he  saw  a  mossy  brick,  and 
pushing  the  drift  aside  he  uncovered  a  round  of  them 
set  like  a  Runic  ring. 

Jenifer  sprang  up,  laughing  beneath  his  breath, 
kicked  the  leaves  from  above  them;  —  and  he  remem- 
bered. 

Here  he  had  first  seen  a  little  maid,  slipping  along 
the  way.  The  soles  of  her  buttoned  boots  were  bright 
from  long  walking  on  the  chaff  and  she  could  scarcely 
balance  herself  upon  them.  The  dimpled  hands  were 
outstretched  and  the  eyes  beneath  her  tossing  curls 


86  Jenifer 

were  imploring.  The  round  and  dimpled  chin  above 
her  cap  strings  quivered,  but  she  had  not  uttered  a 
sound  when  the  woman  who  should  have  cared  for  her 
hurried  to  meet  another  along  the  path. 

The  boy  had  been  taking  a  header  down  the  rift, 
and  he  had  sat  up  amidst  the  leaves,  brushing  the 
chaff  from  face  and  eyes,  and  looked  up  at  her.  She 
had  laughed;  and  he  had  run  up  the  slope  to  her,  and 
piled  cones  for  her  amusement,  —  done  anything  for 
the  baby  eyes  and  friendly  smile.  The  nurse,  looking 
back,  had  settled  herself  for  comfortable  talk. 

The  boy  had  searched  for  pebbles  and  broken  the 
wild  plum  blossoms  and  sought  for  deep-speared  mosses; 
and  she  had  commanded  —  though  she  lisped. 

Day  by  day  he  had  haunted  the  gulleys  and  the 
rifts.  A  cabin  was  beyond  the  woods,  and  to  this  the 
woman  came.  Twice,  three  times  —  he  did  not  know 
how  often  —  he  had  met  them  and  the  girl  had  stayed 
and  played.  For  her  the  bricks  had  been  rounded, 
there  she  had  ruled,  and  there,  gravely  and  possessively, 
she  had  called  him  a  name  it  reddened  him  to  remember. 

Then,  though  he  haunted  the  woods,  she  disappeared. 
The  little  maid  had  been  a  visitor  to  the  house  which 
was  now  his,  and  she  had  gone  home.  What  followed  — 
his  father's  death,  the  reaching  of  a  friendly  hand  to 
place  him  in  the  school  —  obscured  the  recollection  of 
her.  Even  now  it  was  a  mist  of  memory,  but  Jenifer's 
heart  was  warm  as  he  remembered. 

He  would  go  no  farther.  With  closed  eyes  he  could 
see  the  cabin  he  had  set  out  to  seek.  He  knew  how  the 
chimney  must  have  sagged  and  the  logs  pulled  from 


Jenifer  87 

their  crossings;  how  the  sassafras  grew  on  the  red, 
washed  hills,  and  the  sumach  in  the  hollows;  how  the 
saplings  stole  on  the  little  free-hold  clearing,  the  few 
acres  of  the  "  poor  white  "  on  the  fringes  of  a  great 
estate. 

It  was  better  to  linger  dreaming  here.  But  the  dream 
of  a  man  whose  life  is  in  deeds  cuts  deep.  It  has  no 
trickling  shallows  to  temper  its  strength,  but  one  straight 
bed,  and  it  so  goes  deep,  and  deeper. 


A  LONG  rain,  the  "  rain  of  the  blackberry  blossoms," 
drove  Jenifer  into  the  library. 

He  had  come  from  the  hills  where  he  searched  for 
young  cattle.  The  water  ran  from  his  storm-coat  and 
from  Lightfoot's  mane,  and  the  horse's  flanks  were 
rough  and  smoking  when  he  rode  into  the  stable;  but 
his  rain-lashed  cheeks  were  red,  and  his  eyes  were 
glowing.  He  had  seen  the  clouds  rolling  between  the 
peaks;  the  bounding  streams,  and  grasses  bent  beside 
them;  the  washed  and  vivid  earth;  the  water  foaming 
in  the  gulleys;  and,  on  a  worthless  hillside,  the  clumps 
of  Scottish  broom,  straight  and  dark  and  sheltering  the 
golden  blossoms  at  their  heart. 

Jenifer  laughed  at  Benfs  dismay  at  sight  of  him  and 
at  the  negro's  grumblings  as  he  followed  to  the  house. 

"  Ise  gwine  light  a  fiah  in  hyar,"  Ben  vowed.  He 
stood  at  the  library  door.  In  the  other  rooms  Ben 
dared  no  liberties,  but  this,  with  its  dark  colorings  and 
heavy  massing  of  books,  its  wide  tables  and  big  chairs, 
its  height  and  breadth  and  deep  framed  windows  and 
black  hearth,  seemed,  to  the  negro,  masculine,  belonging 
to  the  master  of  the  house.  Besides,  Ben,  because  of 
what  he  considered  Jenifer's  plight,  was  fairly  defiant 
"  You  needs  it  sho,"  he  declared. 


Jenifer  89 

Jenifer  nodded  as  he  ran  up  the  stair,  but  he  came 
down  soon,  and  lightly.  Alice  was  asleep. 

The  wind  whistled  through  the  hall,  the  rain  stung 
across  the  brick  floor  of  the  porch.  In  the  lane  the 
locust  blossoms  hung  like  veils  of  white  hidden  behind 
dripping  leaves.  The  beaten  roses  drooped  toward  the 
sodden  grass. 

"  It  sho  is  a  storm,"  grumbled  Ben,  kneeling  on  the 
hearth,  and  sputtering  in  the  smoke  which  puffed  down 
about  him.  "  'Clare  'tis  scan'lous.  Ain't  nobody  shet 
de  do's,  nor  pull  de  winders  down,  nor  —  nor  done 
nothin'.  Ebrylas'  niggah  stickin'  to  de  quartahs,  an*  — " 
He  stopped  short.  Another  word  would  bring  criticism 
on  the  careless  sleeping  mistress.  "  Sit  down,  Marse 
Jen'fah.  Pull  up  hyar  befo'  de  fiah.  It's  gwine  be 
sompin  soon,  or  I'll  bust  myse'f  wid  blowin'."  Ben  sat 
back  on  his  heels.  "  Name  o'  Gawd,  what  you  trapsin* 
'bout  so  fer,"  he  argued,  "  ain't  yo  got  dat  man  ?  —  don't 
see  no  good  he  is  nohow. 

"  But  it  don't  look  like  it  huht  you  none,"  he  added 
grudgingly,  as  he  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  edge  of  the 
hearth.  Jenifer  was  the  picture  of  contentment  and  of 
virile  strength.  He  was  leaning  back  in  the  big  chair. 
His  hair  was  black  and  wet;  his  cheeks  were  flushed 
and  his  eyes  shining  with  laughter  at  Ben's  protesting 
grumbles.  "  Don't  nothin'  'tall  seem  to  huht  you, 
nothin',"  admitted  Ben,  who  had  watched  amazedly  as 
Jenifer  spent  every  hour  of  the  day  in  oversight  and  work, 
leaving  no  corner  of  the  place  to  slip  from  his  mastery. 

Still,  Ben  lowered  a  window  before  he  left,  piled  the 
logs  higher,  and  looked  back  from  the  door  to  see  if 


90  Jenifer 

there  were  more  to  be  done  for  his  employer's  comfort. 
He  was  used  to  Jenifer's  silences  and  was  learning  to 
humor  them. 

Jenifer  did  not  know  when  Ben  went  out  of  the 
room.  He  was  tingling  from  his  fight  with  wind  and 
rain,  and  the  heat  of  the  leaping  flames  made  drowsy 
comfort.  He  was  no  reader;  but  he  was  soon  restless. 
Unwelcome  thoughts  had  begun  to  beset  him  and  he 
cared  for  no  idle  hours.  Wheatham,  in  his  quarters,  had 
come  upon  a  time  when  he  brooked  no  disturbance  and 
glowered  at  any  one  who  came  even  beneath  the  arcade 
before  his  door,  while  his  head  was  bent  always  above  his 
table,  his  cheeks  red  and  hot,  his  eyes  a  shining  line,  his 
fingers  forever  busied. 

What  was  it  he  had  said  about  the  books?  The 
artist's  fancy  ran  riot  over  everything  about  the  house. 
Jenifer's  swept  to  acres  and  woods  and  all  living  things 
upon  and  within  them.  While  Wheatham  was  like  the 
bee,  seeking  his  own  particular  sweet,  Jenifer's  seething 
energy  held  no  limitations. 

He  got  up  now,  pushed  the  few  and  unopened  papers 
restlessly  about  the  table,  walked  up  and  down  the  long 
floor,  lounged  in  the  deep  window;  —  still,  there  was 
nothing  but  the  storm,  the  lash  of  it  across  the  land, 
the  writhing  trees,  the  sheets  of  rain. 

Jenifer  paused  before  a  diamond-paned  case  where 
worn  and  leather-bound  volumes  showed  black  on  the 
shelves,  where  doors  were  locked  and  a  key  left  carelessly. 
The  books  in  this  case  were  those  about  which  Wheatham 
had  raved.  "Unique,"  "rare,"  he  had  called  them; 
and  he  had  dwelt  longest  on  some  manuscripts. 


Jenifer  91' 

"  How  in  the  world  you  came  to  get  them,  Jenifer, 
I  don't  see;  how  they  ever  came  to  be  sold  —  But  they 
are  here,  and  yours,  all  right.  If  ever  you  want  to  know 
how  men  lived  a  century  and  half  ago,  what  sort  of  a 
fellow  built  this  house,  and  cut  down  the  woods  for 
you,  and  made  your  way  generally  easy,  you've  got  the 
record  right  at  hand.  And,  I  say,  Jenifer,"  Wheatham 
had  added  earnestly,  "  I'd  be  careful  with  those  papers. 
They  have  their  own  value,  not  to  you  alone,  mind  you, 
nor  to  those  who  have  owned  them,  —  they  don't  seem 
to  care  a  rush  about  them,  maybe  didn't  even  know  of 
them,  —  but  they  are  valuable  to  the  world  at  large. 
Look  over  them  sometime,  you'll  see." 

Jenifer  remembered  the  leather-bound,  metal-clasped 
tome  which  Wheatham  had  handled  as  he  spoke.  He 
took  it  down  carelessly,  and,  leaning  against  the  high, 
dark  case  undid  the  clasp  and  turned  the  stiff,  time- 
stained,  yellow  pages. 

Pen-written  they  were,  but  clear  as  print;  and  Jeni- 
fer's careless  glance  fell  first  on  a  record  of  marriages 
and  then  of  births;  and  then,  as  he  turned  the  leaves, 
on  letters  glued  to  the  time-splotched  pages.  The 
names  at  the  end  amazed  him.  They  were  those  who 
from  the  leading  division  of  the  colonies  reached  out  to 
touch  them  all,  to  unite  them,  and  to  marshall  them 
in  array;  to  sound  the  trumpet-call  to  resistance,  war, 
and  free  government;  and  to  foster  the  newly  born 
giant  of  the  great  and  all-promising  West.  Here  was 
Washington's  name,  here  Jefferson's;  Madison's  fol- 
lowed; and  others  of  whom  history  takes  vivid  note. 
Here  their  letters,  and  copies  of  the  replies ! 


92  Jenifer 

Jenifer  strode  across  to  the  table  by  the  fireside, 
spread  the  book  upon  it,  wheeled  a  chair  to  face  it,  and, 
with  nervous  fingers  thrust  through  his  black  hair, 
leaned  above  the  pages. 

The  alien  owner  searched  the  diary  of  the  founder 
of  the  house  from  whose  abiding-place  the  race  had 
fled.  Only  that  brick-walled  space  beyond  the  garden 
paths  was  theirs,  and  there  the  trees  beat  and  bent,  and 
the  water  ran  between  the  graves.  Yet  the  vivid  spirit 
of  that  long  departed  life  leaped  out  along  the  words, 
and  laid  a  hand  on  him  —  the  stranger. 

The  building  of  the  house,  the  bringing  of  its  mistress 
home,  the  coming  of  the  children,  —  a  man's  joy  the 
stronger  for  the  brevity  of  its  telling;  memoranda  of 
his  day,  of  men  of  the  colonies  who  visited  him;  jottings 
of  their  wranglings  over  disputed  points  whose  long 
ago  solutions  are  now  a  country's  boast;  the  gathering 
storm  of  discontent;  these  letters  to  him:  and,  between, 
a  record  for  making  wine,  perhaps;  notes  on  the  vines 
he  had  planted  on  the  hills;  the  pedigree  of  a  horse;  a 
line  concerning  a  fox  hunt  and  those  who  had  slept  on 
the  night  thereafter  in  his  hospitable  house;  —  the 
record  of  a  life  that  was  strong  and  full  and  jovial,  its 
pulse  beating  in  rhythm  with  the  pulse  of  his  world;  of 
it,  helping  it,  uplifting  it,  and  shaping  its  destinies. 

It  showed  Jenifer,  not  only  in  that  one  fascinated 
hour  in  the  silent  house,  the  storm  outside,  and  within 
the  imperious  call  of  spirit  unto  spirit,  but  in  many 
another  searching,  that  they  who  founded  the  house 
which  had  come  to  be  his  had  held  no  selfish  life  apart 
from  their  fellows.  To  live  and  enjoy  were  not  enough 


Jenifer  93 

for  them.  In  the  questions  which  had  come  to  each 
generation  they  had  helped,  and  led.  Upon  their 
names  alone  could  be  threaded  the  history  of  their 
country;  theirs,  and  his. 

Jenifer  had  not  had  a  thought  concerning  his  neighbors. 
He  had  delighted  in  his  possessions  and  the  dream  of 
what  he  should  do  with  them,  but  already  he  felt  a  lack. 
He  saw  it  not  so  much  in  his  own  life  as  in  that  of  the 
woman  bound  to  him.  Visiting,  cordiality,  and  free 
hospitality  were  the  purlieus  permitted  the  women  of 
the  house.  None  fell  to  Alice.  Jenifer  was  living  unto 
himself.  He  was  yet  too  young  to  know  how  dreary 
it  could  prove. 

These  pen-written  pages  led  him  to  others.  The 
volumes  in  that  case  had  been  gathered  by  a  hand 
which  knew  two  loves  —  if  they  be  not  one  —  history 
and  biography.  Jenifer  pursued  through  summer 
evenings  and  noon's  still  hours  and  winter's  close-shut 
nights  names  he  came  to  know  and  reverence;  and 
with  them  for  ideals  and  a  new  self-measurement 
he  began  to  feel  his  content  pricked  at  many  a  point  and 
a  longing  which  seemed  hopeless  of  accomplishment: 
for  the  man's  hamperings  were  not  alone  of  his  own 
making. 

First  this  clear  script  told,  while  the  unheeded  storm 
roared  without  and  the  fire  died  on  the  hearth,  a  part 
of  that  tale  the  reader,  stern  of  face  and  white  of  cheek 
as  he  read,  had  known  and  cared  little  for,  since  having 
always  accepted  it,  he  had  half- forgotten :  — 

Early  in  the  war  for  liberty  the  firm-handed  writer 
of  the  diary  had  been  wounded,  sent  home,  and,  his 


94  Jenifer 

disability  continuing,  mustered  out.  The  few  lines 
telling  it  were  disjointed  lamentation.  The  Americans 
had  lost,  New  York  had  been  evacuated,  Washington 
was  retreating  through  New  Jersey.  Then  a  hallelujah, 
and  in  Christmas  season !  Washington  had  fallen  upon 
the  Hessians,  their  leader  was  killed,  and  a  thousand 
soldiers  prisoners. 

Jefferson  was  across  the  hills,  and  there  were  letters 
to  and  fro,  visits  and  arguments  —  all  recorded.  Finally 
the  statement  of  one  great  fact:  Jefferson  had  per- 
suaded Washington  to  send  the  Hessian  prisoners  to 
this  then  remote  country  to  be  guarded,  and  the  man 
who  could  no  longer  fight,  but  was  afire  to  do  his  country 
service,  would  be  the  foreigners'  guardian.  Their 
camp  was  to  be  two  miles  from  the  house,  but  on  what 
was  then  within  the  plantation's  boundaries;  quarters 
of  weather-boarding  were  put  up  rapidly;  and  in  this 
house  some  of  the  officers  were  to  be  housed. 

So  far  was  history.  It  was  its  byway,  of  which  on 
these  stained  pages  there  was  no  hint,  which  was  Jenifer's 
story.  His  lineage  was  that  of  one  of  the  officers  so 
written  about  and  a  pretty  and  ignorant  daughter  of  a 
small  farmer  of  the  hills;  and  there  had  been  no  marriage. 

Disowned,  the  woman  yet  bravely  made  her  way. 
A  hut  well  hidden,  a  loom  in  whose  handling  she  grew 
skilled,  red  earth  to  bear  a  friendly  hundred-fold,  and 
a  sturdy  boy  growing  by  her  side! 

The  boy  had  grown,  married  with  his  mother's  kind  — 
when  she  was  pure  —  and  had  seen  a  boy  born  unto 
him.  The  son  of  that  man  was  Jenifer's  father.  But 
the  hills  had  not  forgotten  and  would  never  forget 


Jenifer  9$ 

that  story.  A  proud  people  held  them,  a  folk  whose 
legends  from  generation  to  generation  were  as  familiar 
as  the  lisp  upon  a  baby's  lips. 

They  knew  how,  when  the  revolution  was  ended, 
some  of  the  Hessians,  freed,  had  returned  to  their  own 
country;  some  had  scattered  through  that  new  free 
land;  and  some  had  taken  to  those  far  mountains  whose 
blueness  they  had  grown  to  love  and  for  whose  wildness 
they  were  fitted ;  their  blood  still  flowed  in  the  veins  of 
a  strange  folk  who  held  aloof  and  lived  their  own  tra- 
ditions back  in  the  wild  pockets  of  the  peaks. 

But  Jenifer's  people,  of  which  he  was  the  last, 
had  held  on  here.  His  name  —  Wooten  Jenifer  — 
memorialized  his  Hessian  ancestor.  Even  this  place  and 
house  were  part  of  his  history,  for  its  "  Fair  Hills  " 
had  slipped  long  ago  into  the  terse  "  Barracks." 

What  strangeness  of  fate  had  brought  him  to  its 
possession  ?  What  remote  guerdon  for  a  woman's 
far-off"  agony  did  his  fortune  hold  ?  Jenifer  could  not 
ask. 

Stumbling  to  his  feet,  and  striding  through  the  hall 
and  out  to  the  porch  and  fresh  air,  he  looked,  with 
stern  eyes,  across  the  rain-washed  hills  towards  that  on 
which  the  prisoners'  camp  had  stood.  His  strong  hand 
gripping  the  rounded,  brick-made  pillar,  slipped  upon 
grooved  lines,  letters  cut  deep.  There  were  many  upon 
the  porch,  and  some  which  he  had  noted  carelessly. 
But  this  had  been  unseen.  And,  broken,  moss-grown, 
beneath  his  fingers,  this  was  W. 


XI 

"  I  SHOULD  like  to  know  what  there  is  for  any  one  to 
do  here  ?  " 

The  question  was  a  challenge.  Alice's  blue  eyes  were 
hard  and  sullen  as  she  looked  across  the  table. 

"  To  do  ?  "  Jenifer  asked  helplessly.  He  was,  that 
morning,  absolutely  content.  The  cool  air  stole  through 
the  room;  the  breath  of  honeysuckle  came  with  it,  and 
the  song  of  a  mocking-bird.  Jenifer's  plans  were  end- 
less and  his  mind  had  been  full  of  them,  as  Wheatham 
talked  carelessly  of  the  day  and  the  roses  abloom. 

"  Why  — "  began  Jenifer,  and  stopped  again,  as 
much  at  sex  as  he  had  been  before. 

The  women  of  such  houses  as  this  had  always  had  a 
press  of  duties.  Jenifer's  hazy  memory  painted  pictures 
of  gracious  mistresses  with  jingling  keys,  who  gave  long 
hours  of  oversight  and  careful  orders;  or,  with  skirts 
held  daintily,  lingered  in  the  garden  walks  commanding 
work  in  flower-bordered  squares. 

"  Is  there  anything  you  would  like  to  have  done  in  the 
garden  ?  "  he  asked  quickly,  catching  at  the  last  thought. 

"  The  garden !  I  cannot  bear  it,  I  cannot  open  the 
gate  without  seeing  that  —  that  dreadful  place." 

"  You  don't  mean  the  graveyard  ?  " 

Alice  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  shivered  as 
she  bent  her  head  upon  her  hands. 
96 


Jenifer  97 

"  I  don't  know  what  there  is  about  that  —  Are  you 
afraid  of  it  ?  "  with  a  slight  emphasis  of  scorn. 

"  There  is  not  a  servant  on  the  place  who  will  cross 
that  field  after  dark,"  Alice  flashed. 

"  Oh,  they  are  always  superstitious.  Are  you  ?  Is 
that  it  ?  "  he  teased. 

"  No,  it  is  not.  But  I  don't  see  why  that  —  that 
place  —  why  they  should  have  chosen  that  —  a  spot 
forever  in  sight." 

Jenifer  went  on  with  his  meal.  If  that  idle  and 
senseless  complaint  were  all  Alice  had  in  mind,  it  was 
not  worth  talking  about.  It  seemed  to  him  fitting  that 
the  abiding-place  of  the  dead  should  be  near  enough 
for  sight  and  care;  and  he  had  thought  a  man  might 
live  the  better  for  remembering  how  soon  his  life  is 
sped;  or,  rather,  not  being  of  analytic  mind,  it  seemed 
to  him  a  roundness  and  completion.  Amongst  his 
first  orders  had  been  those  which  cleared  the  neglected 
mounds,  and  put  trim  the  space  within  the  walls. 

"  Then  you  don't  want  to  take  care  of  the  garden  ?  " 
he  asked  again. 

"  No,"  said  Alice  shortly. 

Wheatham,  silent  in  his  chair,  had  a  swift  vision  of  a 
woman  in  the  paths,  marjoram  and  bergamot  and  pale 
sage  brushing  her  skirts  as  she  passed,  chrysanthemums, 
in  their  season,  wine-red  at  her  feet.  Alice,  tall  and 
fair-haired,  might  have  fitted  to  the  picture.  Why  did 
she  reject  it  all  ? 

The  slight  hold  she  had  at  first  taken  loosened  in  her 
fingers.  The  house  which  might  have  been  a  delight 
in  some  woman's  hands  showed  already  neglect  of 


98  Jenifer 

service.  The  servants  shirked  their  duties,  bestowing 
less  attention  on  the  house  and  more  on  themselves, 
with  idleness  and  laughter;  and  in  place  of  their  guidance 
was  fault-finding  from  the  mistress. 

The  artist  had  pictured  the  house,  as  he  planned  its 
furnishings,  with  one  who  loved  it  as  its  gracious  ruler. 
He  had  imaged  the  windows  flung  wide  to  morning  air, 
the  bowls  heaped  with  blossomings,  the  floor  polished 
to  give  back  her  shadow  as  she  passed;  or  dim  at  noon 
with  closed  shutters,  and  dusky  sweetness  beneath  the 
ceiling;  or  at  evening  when  the  wide  hall  was  gathering- 
place,  or  the  porch  loitering-ground,  or  the  stile  — 
God !  it  made  him  half  in  love  himself  with  any  woman 
who  would  but  hold  the  drapery  of  his  dreams  upon 
her  shoulders.  But  this  woman  refused  her  kingdom : 
worse,  she  did  not  see  it. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  take  charge  of  the  chickens  ?  " 
asked  Jenifer,  his  mind  upon  her  dissatisfaction  and  her 
wants.  He  knew  its  surest  cure,  and  its  only  one,  was 
work  and  interest. 

"  I  ?  "  with  blue  eyes  wide.  "  I  ?  I  don't  know  a 
thing  about  them,  and  I  don't  want  to  know,"  she  cried, 
pushing  back  her  chair  and  springing  to  her  feet. 

Jenifer  finished  his  breakfast  calmly.  He  was  not 
worried.  He  could  not  imagine  failure  to  find  eventually 
an  interest  in  such  a  life  as  this  he  offered  to  his  wife: 
and  he  had  left  Alice  to  find  her  bearings,  and  take 
what  best  pleased  her;  but  her  listlessness  and  moping 
began  to  wear  on  him. 

"  Alice,"  he  asked  when  he  found  her  in  the  hall, 
"  would  you  like  to  go  driving  this  afternoon  ?  " 


Jenifer  99 

"  Where  ?  "  she  demanded  eagerly. 

"  Wherever  you  like."  He  seated  himself  comfortably 
on  the  worn  step. 

"Oh!" 

Jenifer  caught  the  tone,  and  looked  up  keenly  from 
the  match  whose  flame  he  sheltered  with  his  curved  palm. 
"  Anywhere  you  want  to  go  particularly  ?  " 

"  No  —  unless  —  Is  there  anybody  around  here  to  go 
and  see  ?  " 

"  No  one  has  been  to  see  us.  The  people  around  here 
are  not  much  given  to  that  sort  of  thing  —  going  to  see 
strangers." 

"  What  do  they  do  then  ?  "  she  demanded  impatiently. 

A  dark  red  streaked  Jenifer's  cheek.  "Work;  and 
hard  enough,  too." 

"  But  the  women  ?  "  Alice  persisted. 

"  Well,  I  expect  if  you  saw  them  you  would  say  they 
worked  also,"  he  answered  lazily,  his  good-nature  easily 
restored. 

"  Not  all  the  time  ?  " 

He  laughed,  knowing  something  of  the  women's 
ways. 

"Well?"  petulantly. 

Jenifer  shook  his  head  as  he  flung  the  match  into  the 
grass.  He  could  not  tell,  because  he  could  not  put  it 
into  words,  of  that  good-fellowship,  ironclad  towards 
one  who  was  not  desired,  and,  as  he  wanted  none  of  it 
himself,  as  yet,  he  could  not  gauge  her  lack. 

"  It's  lonely  here,"  Alice  complained,  as  if  she  spoke 
to  herself. 

"  Lonely !      Lord !  "      Jenifer    looked    up    ready    to 


ioo  Jenifer 

laugh.  She  could  not  be  in  earnest.  "  You  must  find 
something  to  do,"  he  lightly  advised. 

"What?" 

"  Give  it  up.  Alice  1  "  as  she  whirled  away.  He  was 
about  to  make  some  hot  protest,  but  he  caught  himself 
in  time.  "  Do  you  want  some  money  ?  "  he  ended  lamely. 

It  was  a  question  for  which  she  had  but  one  answer, 
one  and  always.  She  stood  still  looking  back  at  him 
over  her  shoulder.  Her  skirt  and  the  puff  of  her  thin 
blouse  and  the  fluff  of  her  hair  swayed  in  the  wind 
which  stole  through  the  hall.  The  darkness  of  its  setting 
made  her  fairness  the  brighter.  If  only  the  lips  had 
curved,  the  eyes  had  laughed ! 

"  What  would  you  do  with  it  ?  " 

Alice  stood  silent.  She  did  not  know;  only,  she 
wanted  it. 

"  You  have  clothes  enough  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 
Jenifer's  was  the  nature  which  would  have  gloried  to 
put  bounty  and  luxury  within  a  woman's  hand  and 
asked  but  her  pride  in  it,  her  gaiety,  and  —  had  he 
known  what  such  would  have  meant  to  him  —  her  love. 
"  If  you  have  not  —  " 

"  I  have  plenty,"  she  was  forced  to  admit. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  with  a  careless  remembrance 
of  her  trunks.  "And  there  are  not  many  places  to  go  —  " 

It  was  fuel  to  fire.  With  an  exclamation  Jenifer  did 
not  hear,  Alice  ran  half-way  up  the  stair,  stopped  on  the 
landing,  —  and  came  down  again. 

He  was  watching  her,  uncomprehending.  His  hand 
was  still  in  his  pocket  and  his  good-nature  held.  His 
wrath  she  had  never  seen,  nor  had  he  guessed  its  force. 


Jenifer  101 

"  Well,"  he  teased,  "  you  have  not  told  me."  Not 
that  he  cared.  Jenifer  was  only  trying  to  talk  and  be 
careless,  to  ease  the  tug  of  whose  strain  he  was  vaguely 
aware. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  admitted,  as  she  leaned  against 
the  door-frame. 

"  Make  up  your  mind.      There's  all  day." 

"  Would  you  care,"  she  began  slowly,  —  "  would 
you  mind  if  I  —  I  hate  all  that  stuff  up-stairs,"  she  rushed 
on,  "  my  room,  the  sitting-room,  all  of  it.  Dull,  heavy, 
hideous!  It  makes  my  flesh  creep.  Why  can't  I  fix 
them,  furnish  them  to  suit  myself?"  She  paused 
breathless. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?  How  much  do  you 
need  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  I  don't  know.  Suppose  —  "  in  a  sudden  flash  of 
enthusiasm  —  "  Suppose  I  go  to  the  city  and  get  what 
I  want."  Her  voice  faltered  at  the  end,  for  she  saw 
the  expression  on  his  face. 

"Not  now,  Alice;  not  now.  You  haven't  —  you 
haven't  been  home  long  enough  to  get  used  to  things." 

"  How  can  I  get  anything  then  r  " 

Jenifer  made  an  easy  gesture  towards  the  telephone. 
"  That  and  Uncle  Sam.  And  there  are  some  pretty 
good  shops  in  town.  You  can  drive  in." 

"  Pshaw !  "  with  disdain  of  local  stores.  But  her 
cheeks  were  red  and  her  eyes  laughing.  "  When  are 
we  going  driving  ?  "  she  called  from  the  stair. 

"  Four.     Will  that  suit  ?  " 

"All  right!" 

Jenifer  remembered  the  laughing  face  and  watched 


IO2  Jenifer 

for  the  look  of  it  when  Alice  came  out  across  the  porch 
and  trailed  her  filmy  skirts  along  the  worn  brick  paths. 
Very  light  they  were,  her  skirts,  and  lace-like;  and  the 
ends  of  them  seemed  to  have  been  saved  and  gathered 
up,  and  fashioned  with  soft  plumage  to  crown  her  head. 
The  foot  she  put  upon  the  stile  was  slippered  faultlessly; 
the  gloves  upon  her  fingers  were  white  as  the  locust 
blossoms.  Her  eyes  held  only  pleased  vanity  at  Jenifer's 
long  look  and  the  delight  she  saw  leap  into  his  eyes. 
The  gleam  died  instantly  from  her  face  when  Jenifer 
assisted  her  to  the  seat  behind  that  on  which  he  must 
sit  to  drive. 

The  bays  were  harnessed,  and  the  carriage  ordered 
for  the  mistress's  pleasure;  but  blooded  horses  pulling 
at  the  reins  and  the  jolting  of  a  mountain  road  are  not 
conducive  to  talk.  Now  and  then  Jenifer  roused 
himself.  The  electric  plant,  which  Wheatham  had  had 
nearly  finished  and  on  which  men  were  working,  was 
about  done.  The  water-tower  was  complete.  The 
cattle  sent  from  England  thrived.  All  this  talk  was  ut- 
terly wearisome  to  his  listener.  As  they  neared  the  house 
he  asked :  "  Would  you  like  to  learn  how  to  drive  ?  " 

Alice  shook  her  head. 

"  Or  ride  ?  "  Jenifer  loosened  the  reins,  and  turned 
carelessly  on  his  seat. 

"  To  ride  ?"  her  blue  eyes  flew  wide  open.  "  That 
would  be  nice." 

"  Good !  "  he  laughed.    "  Are  you  really  in  earnest  ?  " 

"Certainly!  When  can  I  begin?  To-morrow?" 
She  leaned  forward  eagerly.  The  plumes  on  her  hat 
brushed  his  face. 


Jenifer  103 

"  Whenever  you  are  ready."  Jenifer's  delight  was 
keen.  Here  was  a  thing  which  he  would  like  her  to  do 
and  which  she  really  seemed  to  desire  to  try.  "  I  will 
pick  you  out  a  horse,  or  would  you  rather  choose  for 
yourself?  " 

"Goodness!  I  know  nothing  about  them."  Neither 
love  of  horse-flesh  nor  country  nor  exercise  prompted 
her;  only  a  wish  for  something  to  do,  and  riding,  in  her 
eyes,  bore  a  show  of  luxury  and  elegance.  It  sounded 
well,  and  it  would  be  something  to  write  about. 

"  I  don't  know  who  will  teach  you,"  began  Jenifer 
thoughtfully.  "  I  can  go  with  you  at  first;  and  after- 
wards, Ben  sometimes." 

"  Ben !  I  don't  want  him."  There  was  antipathy 
between  the  two. 

"  How  would  Grame  do  ?  "  He  missed  the  quick 
questioning  of  Alice's  eyes.  "  Only  don't  let  him 
teach  you  to  ride  as  he  does,"  Jenifer  laughed,  as  they 
swept  into  the  lane. 

Ben,  at  the  horses'  heads,  caught  something  of  Jeni- 
fer's teasing  as  he  and  Alice  crossed  the  stile.  The 
negro  shook  his  head  as  he  jumped  to  the  driver's  seat. 
He  had  seen  much  of  which  Jenifer  was  unaware. 
"  Bettah  min'  what  you  doin',"  Ben  muttered,  his  eyes 
on  Jenifer's  straight  figure  and  easy  step;  "  bettah  min'." 
And  as  the  horses  circled  to  the  stables:  "  'Deed  you 
had."  But  Jenifer's  days  were  full  and  even  the  hours, 
which  might  have  been  leisure  ones,  absorbed. 

"  Lawd,"  groaned  Ben,  as  he  wandered  up  and  down 
the  lane  one  night  and  watched  the  flare  of  the  library 
lamp  into  the  summer  darkness  and  Jenifer  bent  beside 


IO4  Jenifer 

it,  book  in  hand,  "  Lawd,  I  suttenly  did  think  he  had 
mo'  sense.  Dem  books,  dey  jes  puts  out  his  min'  an' 
make  him  blin'.  He  don't  see  nothin'.  An'  what  he 
sees  in  dem!  He  bettah  open  his  eyes  to  some  things 
right  hyar.  'Tain't  wuth  while  to  take  to  readin'  to  fin' 
out  things.  Dyar's  plenty  to  han';  mo'  dan  we  wants, 
Gawd  knows." 

The  riding  lessons  had  gone  well.  The  rein  had 
been  freed  from  Alice's  bridle,  yet  the  Englishman  rode 
at  her  side.  The  wife  of  the  master  of  the  place  was 
afraid  of  lonely  woods  and  long  lanes, —  so  she  said. 
Besides,  she  was  forever  chattering.  The  tongue  that 
was  stilled  in  the  big  rooms  had  enough  to  say  in  the 
open  to  one  steady  listener,  a  man  inferior  to  those  of 
her  household,  yet  easier  for  her  to  make  a  companion 
of  and  nearer  to  her  kind. 

No  one  noticed  when  she  changed  the  hour  of  her 
ride  and  took  to  riding  in  the  long  dusk  and  lingering 
till  it  nearly  closed  to  night.  It  was  the  hour  of  magic 
then;  even  she,  impervious,  could  feel  it. 

Something  in  the  scent  of  the  earth  when  the  dew 
first  touched  it;  something  in  the  stillness  of  the  woods 
where  birds  were  nesting  and  in  the  perfume  of  wood 
blossoms  and  the  first  white  stars  above  the  hill  and 
the  stealing  of  the  wind  over  the  breast  of  the  land,  — 
something  caused  even  her  shallow  heart  to  ache  and 
stilled  her  careless  tongue. 

Ben,  awaiting  them  one  night,  saw  the  stars  come 
out  above  the  trees.  The  locust  leaves  were  whispering 
in  the  lane;  the  fireflies  lighted  it  and  the  yard  and  all 
the  sweep  of  fields. 


Jenifer  105 

From  out  the  library  streamed  a  light  across  the 
hall  and  yard.  By  its  source  sat  Jenifer,  absorbing 
every  phrase  he  read,  pausing  to  think  of  it,  weigh  it, 
and  fit  it  into  place,  —  such  a  reader  as  one  who  writes 
might  fashion,  had  he  the  power. 

Ben,  lounging  on  the  fence,  looked  across  at  him. 
Long-limbed,  well  shaped,  with  the  grace  of  uncon- 
sciousness; sun-tanned,  earnest,  with  a  aew  look,  born 
of  that  reading  which  Ben  abhorred,  dawning  in  his 
deep  and  glowing  eyes.  "  Lawd,"  muttered  Ben  hope- 
lessly, as  he  took  up  his  beat  in  the  lane.  "  Lawd !  " 
He  loitered  back  towards  the  stables. 

Some  one  was  touching  a  guitar  lightly,  and  he  paused 
to  listen.  The  player  was  the  artist,  Ben  knew,  and 
touch  and  song  were  alike  hesitant.  While  Ben  listened 
the  clatter  of  horses  full-sped  was  in  the  lane.  Ben 
ran  around  too  late. 

Grame  was  off  his  horse,  the  rein  flung  loose.  One 
hand  tightened  on  Alice's  bridle;  the  other  was  held 
out  to  assist  her.  Ben  heard  her  laugh  as  she  freed 
her  foot  from  the  stirrup,  and  he  saw  her  face  in  the 
beam  of  light  that  shone  across  the  yard,  —  her  face, 
the  look  of  her  eyes,  and  his,  as  she  rested  her  hand  a 
minute  against  his  shoulder.  Neither  had  seen  the 
negro.  Ben  threw  himself  face  downwards  in  the 
grass. 

The  strain  of  the  artist  had  grown  more  assured,  his 
tones  fuller. 

Though  a  hundred  songs  of  the  night  beat  through 
his  mind  he  would  have  none  of  them;  though  music 
and  mystery  rang  in  every  rhythm,  he  would  sing  them 


io6  Jenifer 

not.  The  mocking-bird,  trilling  to  the  night,  chose 
all  the  songs  that  he  had  heard,  and  lingered  on  those 
he  loved;  the  song-sparrow  near  his  nest  had  but 
one  liquid  strain,  —  and  that  his  own.  And  because 
Wheatham  must  thresh  out  his  meaning  for  himself, 
and  must  feel  along  words  and  notes  and  because  the 
late  rose  at  his  door  was  to  the  hour  what  the  dream 
of  love  was  to  his  heart,  he  sang: 

"  The  lilies  in  the  gardens  dusk 

Blow  fair  and  pale  and  pure, 
The  violets  down  the  woodlands  dim 
Spread  fair  a  purple  lure; 
And  some  may  breathe, 
And  some  may  wreathe, 
But  for  me  the  rose,  my  love, 
For  me  the  rose. 

"  The  maiden  down  the  darkened  close 

Moves  proud  and  pure  and  still, 
The  lady  'long  the  primrose  way 
Sings  clear  and  sweet  and  shrill; 
And  some  may  bow, 
And  some  may  vow, 
But  for  me  the  rose,  my  love, 
For  me  the  rose." 


XII 

"  EUGENIA  !  "  A  long,  listening  pause !  "  You  are 
coming  this  week  ?  Saturday,  oh !  must  you  ?  of  course ! 
Who  are  you  bringing  with  you  ?  Fine !  "  at  the  list. 
"  Too  many  ?  You  couldn't  bring  enough.  I  want  the 
house  full.  I  am  dying  to  see  people,  lots,  crowds ! 
What  hour  —  Eugenia  !  Hello !  Hello !  Eugenia  ! 
Yes ! "  Alice  stood  listening  for  a  second.  "  All  right," 
she  called  with  a  laugh,  "  Saturday !  " 

And  it  was  midweek !  Alice  hung  up  the  receiver 
listlessly.  For  an  instant  she  felt  a  mad  wish  that 
instead  of  her  words  she  could  send  herself,  or  that  part 
of  her  that  thought  and  saw,  along  that  glittering  line 
which  spun  by  the  trees  and  across  the  red  hills,  out  to 
the  world.  One  swift  electric  rush  and  then  the  streets 
and  crowds. 

Here  the  bricks  glared  in  the  walks;  the  heat  dazzled 
above  the  hills ;  the  haze  on  the  mountains  hid  the  peaks ; 
the  sky  was  filled  with  puffs  of  lazy  clouds;  and  the 
beating  of  the  engine  at  its  harvest  threshing  beyond 
the  stables  rasped  her  nerves  like  the  throb  of  a  deep 
note  of  an  organ,  too  low  to  be  heard,  and  too  strong  to 
be  endured. 

Alice  whirled  from  the  door  with  a  sudden  passion 
at  its  intolerableness.     Ben  was  crossing  the  yard  to 
the  quarters.     "  Ben   Ben,"  she  called. 
107 


io8  Jenifer 

"  Put  the  horses  to  the  carriage,"  she  cried  before 
the  negro  had  reached  her.  "I  —  I  am  going  into 
town."  It  was  a  sudden  mad  resolve.  Jenifer  had  often 
urged  her  to  go.  He  thought  the  drive  and  the  shops 
there  might  divert  her.  But  after  the  cities  she  had 
known  what  could  a  town  here  hold  for  her?  Alice's 
untutored  imagination  pictured  the  facilities  of  a  cross- 
roads village.  "  There  are  some  things  I  must  have  by 
Saturday.  I  am  going  now  —  at  once,"  she  called 
back  from  the  hall.  Ben  stood  rooted  by  the  door,  an 
open-mouthed  image  of  dismay.  "  I  will  be  ready 
before  you  are." 

"  Hurry,"  she  urged,  her  foot  upon  the  stair. 

Ben,  for  a  moment,  did  not  move.  To  be  carried  off 
on  a  day  of  harvest,  when  the  smoke  and  smell  of  the 
engine  were  in  the  air,  when  the  wheat  ran  from  the 
thresher  in  golden  slides;  when  "  Marse  Jen'fah," 
blithe  as  any  hand,  worked  with  them  side  by  side, 
and  even  "  dat  man  "  was  endurable;  —  to  leave  this! 
And  cold  meat  and  hot  meat,  corn-cake  and  loaf-bread, 
cabbage  and  pot-liquor,  apple  pie  and  cherry-bread 
under  the  big  tree  by  the  bam;  "An'  Marse  Jen'fah 
so  proud  he  fit  to  bus' ;  "  —  to  miss  it  all ! 

"  Gawd,"  he  groaned,  "  some  folks  is  fools.  Dey 
suttenly  is." 

"  Dyar,  de  Lawd  be  praised."  Ben  straightened 
like  a  dart.  His  black  eyes  flashed.  Jenifer  was  stri- 
ding across  the  yard.  "  He's  gwine  put  a  stop  to  all  dis 
tomfoolishness,  I  knows."  Ben  waited;  but  Jenifer 
did  not  hurry  out  to  countermand  Alice's  order.  The 
negro  backed  the  horses  to  the  carriage.  Strap  to 


Jenifer  109 

buckle  and  buckle  to  tongue  went  slow  and  slower. 
"  Befo'  de  libin'  Lawd,"  he  groaned.  Alice  stood  on 
the  stile,  and  Jenifer  waited  by  her  side. 

"  Ben  is  not  ready."  Jenifer  laughed  when  he  saw 
the  state  of  the  horses  at  the  stable  door.  "  Better  sit 
down  and  wait."  He  himself  swung  one  foot  carelessly 
from  the  stile;  the  other  was  curled  comfortably  under 
him,  and  on  his  shoulders,  his  hat,  and  in  his  hair  were 
wisps  of  straw.  "  I  look  like  a  miller,  I  know.  I  feel 
as  if  I'd  like  to  be  one  just  to  handle  such  stuff 
always.  You  ought  to  have  come  out,  Alice,  as  I  told 
you.  Why  didn't  you  ?  You  missed  it."  His  delight 
in  the  day  set  him  babbling. 

Alice  stood  in  the  walk,  her  lace-ruffled  parasol  above 
her  head,  the  picture  of  impatience. 

"  You  must  come  out  to-morrow.  We  will  have 
another  day  of  it.  It's  one  of  the  best  crops,  the  best 
I'll  bet,  ever  raised  on  this  place.  I  —  "he  pulled  him- 
self up.  Jenifer  had  found  some  notes  as  to  wheat  yield 
in  the  old  diary.  He  had  been  about  to  quote  them: 
but  not  to  her.  He  suddenly  felt  how  absurd  his  interest 
in  the  old  pages  would  appear.  "  There  comes  Ben," 
he  cried,  straightening  himself  and  slipping  his  hand 
under  Alice's  arm  as  she  came  up  the  few  steps  of  the 
stile. 

"  Go  slow,  Ben,"  Jenifer  cautioned.  "  It's  hot, 
awful,  for  that  long  drive."  Jenifer  had  intended  to 
persuade  Alice  to  put  off  the  expedition;  but  he  found 
her  so  bent  on  it  that  he  had  not  spoken  a  word  of 
remonstrance.  "  Take  good  care  of  the  horses.  Alice, 
you  had  better  get  your  dinner  in  town.  Cafes  ?  "  to 


i  io  Jenifer 

her  astonished  question,  "of  course."  He  told  the 
negro  at  which  to  stop.  "  And  come  back  late  in  the 
afternoon,"  he  advised.  "  I  am  afraid  there  is  going 
to  be  a  storm,  though,"  he  ended,  with  an  anxious  look 
at  the  floating  clouds. 

"  A  thunder-storm !  "  Alice  leaned  out  to  peer  at 
the  sky.  In  this  high  land  the  thunder  seemed  to  roll 
across  the  hills  which  sent  it  echoing  back,  low  and 
menacing;  while  the  lightning  snapped  like  a  pistol's 
shot  close  at  hand.  Alice  dreaded  it  with  a  deadly  fear. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  Jenifer  reassured,  seeing  the 
fright  in  her  face.  "  One  can  never  tell.  Alice,"  leaning 
again  into  the  carriage,  "  get  all  you  want,  everything. 
You  must  have  a  big  time  when  they  all  come."  What 
would  he  not  give  to  see  her  interested  in  her  affairs 
as  he  was  in  his  ?  And  hospitality  is  right  and  natural 
enough  to  be  a  law. 

"  Ben,"  Jenifer  began  again,  but  his  intended  caution 
ended  in  a  gleam  of  humorous  sympathy.  The  negro 
sat  straight  and  stolid,  anger  spreading  a  look  of 
stupidity  upon  his  face.  "  Good-by,"  he  called  instead, 
and  turned  away.  His  hat  was  over  his  happy  eyes, 
and  the  slight  blouse  of  his  shirt  blew  against  his  belt 
as  he  strode  on,  hurrying  back  where  the  thud  of  the 
engine  beat  out  a  harvest  call.  Jenifer  would  have 
missed  it  for  nothing  in  his  knowledge. 

But  Alice,  who  had  not  set  foot  in  the  town,  which 
was  their  station,  since  they  sped  out  of  it  the  day  of 
their  coming,  and  who  was  contemptuous  of  what  she 
expected  to  find  there,  leaned  back  on  her  cushions, 
careless  of  steep  hill  or  long  stretch  of  road.  She  was 


Jenifer  m 

crowding  into  her  mind  every  need,  fancied  or  real,  of 
her  household  and  her  guests.     A  lax  keeper  of  her 
home,  she  would   make  up  her  long  neglect  in  one 
absorbing  whirl. 

"  You  know  where  the  stores  are  ? "  she  leaned 
forward  to  ask,  when  the  hot  and  wearisome  miles 
brought  them  to  thick-set  houses. 

"  Yes'm,"  said  Ben  stolidly.  "  But  we  ain't  come  to 
'em  yet." 

"  When  you  do,  drive  slowly,"  she  commanded 
sharply.  "  I  will  tell  you  when  to  stop." 

There  was  nothing  prepossessing  in  the  houses  they 
drove  by,  the  smoke-stacks  of  a  factory,  the  unpainted 
cottages,  or  the  rough  hill  they  climbed  when  Ben 
turned  the  horses  from  the  road  by  which  they  had 
entered.  But  suddenly  they  were  in  a  long  wide  street, 
and  it  was  crowded.  A  car  whizzed  past. 

"  Electric  cars !  "  gasped  Alice. 

"  Dey  took  de  mules  off  years  ago,"  said  Ben  without 
a  flicker  of  expression  across  his  face. 

"  A  soda  fountain !  Stop."  She  fairly  clutched  Ben's 
shoulder,  and  loosened  her  skirts,  ready  to  spring  out 
the  moment  the  horses  were  brought  beside  the  curb. 

"  You  bettah  jes  sit  still,"  advised  Ben  composedly. 
"  Leas'  dat's  what  de  swells  does."  Alice  stiffened  on 
her  seat.  "  Somebody'll  come  'long  out  to  you  an*  see 
what  you  want.  Dyar !  "  as  a  young  man  hurried  from 
the  store  and  came  up  to  them. 

Alice  gave  her  order  and  leaned  back  when  it  was 
filled  to  sip  the  foamy  stuff  luxuriously,  to  look  at  the 
young  man  who  waited  with  his  hand  on  the  awning 


112  Jenifer 

pole,  and  to  glance  over  his  head  at  the  shining  spigots 
of  the  fountain,  the  heaped  fruits  on  the  floor,  and  the 
cases  on  the  counter.  "  You  have  chocolates  ?  " 

"  Certainly."  The  man  smiled  at  her  curious  man- 
ner, but  named  the  favorites  and  their  prices. 

The  list  Alice  rattled  off  made  the  eyes  of  the  clerk 
widen,  used  though  he  was  to  an  extravagant  patronage. 
"  And  another  glass  of  soda,"  she  laughed  gleefully. 
"  Ben,"  in  sudden  generosity,  "  don't  you  want  some- 
thing to  drink  ? " 

"  Yes'm."  Ben  heard  the  click  of  her  purse.  A  sud- 
den flicker  lit  his  black  eyes  as  he  turned.  Alice  held 
out  a  dime.  He  let  her  lay  it  on  the  cushion  beside 
him,  and  left  it  in  full  sight,  his  solemn  glance  traversing 
the  amused  clerk,  the  store,  the  street.  "  Can't  git 
nothin'  now,"  he  said  soberly.  "  Dese  hosses  is  feared 
o'  de  cars.  Dey's  not  to  be  trusted.  Ise  gwine  put 
dem  up  fus'." 

"  Where  did  this  turnout  come  from  ?  "  asked  the 
clerk  in  a  low  tone,  when  the  woman  behind  Ben  was 
busied  with  her  packages. 

"  De  Barracks,  sah,"  with  show  of  satisfaction. 

"  So ! "  with  quick  surprise,  and  swift,  accurate 
measurement  of  all,  —  horses,  carriage,  mistress  — 
"  Long  drive  for  such  a  hot  day,"  he  added  care- 
lessly. 

'  'Tis  dat;  an'  we's  got  a  lot  to  do.  Dribe  on  ?  "  Ben 
asked  suddenly.  Alice  was  scarcely  ready.  The  young 
man  looked  friendly  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  shop 
was  attractive;  but  Ben  flicked  at  his  horses. 

The   street  was    filled   with    the   morning   shoppers 


Jenifer  113 

and  drivers  who  were  returning  home,  friendly  groups, 
shining  carriages  and  laughing,  bare-headed,  bright 
occupants. 

Alice  sat  stiff  and  erect.  She  was  distinctly  glad  of 
her  silk  gown,  her  big  hat,  and  lace-bedecked  parasol; 
of  her  sleek  horses  and  their  shining  harness;  and  still 
more  glad  of  the  money  in  her  purse,  as  she  went  from 
shop  to  shop.  But  she  did  not  see  that,  beyond  those 
who  attended  to  her  wants,  —  and  took  their  pay  for 
doing  so,  —  she  won  from  none  a  second  glance ;  nor 
that  when,  by  Ben's  advice,  she  sent  the  horses  to  a 
near-by  livery  and  ordered  her  packages  sent  to  "  The 
Barracks'  carriage,"  the  effect  was  not  obsequiousness 
from  the  merchants,  as  she  had  expected,  but  the  fact, 
accentuated  by  her  many  orders,  that  thus  she  made 
herself  and  the  outfit  well  known. 

Thus  when  on  Saturday  the  carriages,  the  brake,  and 
the  three-seated  surrey  whirled  down  the  street,  the 
leading  team  was  at  once  recognized.  The  visitors  in 
those  vehicles  were  bent  on  a  holiday  and  were  hilarious. 
The  young  men  swarmed  from  their  seats  before  the 
horses  were  well  stopped;  the  shops  were  raided;  — 
melons,  peaches  and  candy  boxes  were  flung  into  the 
carriages.  The  laughter  was  too  loud,  the  cheeks  of 
the  hostess  were  too  red,  her  manner  was  exuberant. 

Alice  was  amongst  the  loudest  as  they  took  the  long 
way  out  by  well-kept  homes  and  green  hedges  and 
long  lawns  and  stately  trees.  People  were  on  their 
porches  or  sauntering  down  the  street  or  coming  from 
late  drives;  the  hour  served  to  render  The  Barracks' 
party  conspicuous,  as  they  drove  homeward,  making 


ii4  Jenifer 

the  way  gay  with  calls  from  carriage  to  carriage,  with 
words  of  strange  slang  and  catches  of  new  choruses. 
The  cool  of  the  valleys  they  dipped  into,  the  beat  of 
the  wind  when  they  breasted  the  hill,  the  shine  of  the 
sunset  beyond  the  peaks,  and  the  low  lights  stealing 
across  the  fields  were  but  strange  notes  accentuating 
their  freedom. 

A  young  woman,  bare-headed,  white-gowned,  and 
clear  of  eyes,  holding  the  reins  in  a  skilful  hand,  pulled 
out  of  their  way  and  sat  without  a  turn  of  her  head  as 
the  cavalcade  swept  noisily  by;  and  it  passed  many 
others  —  men  from  the  mountains  jogging  homeward, 
women  and  children  going  slowly,  or  a  smart  buggy 
whirling  by.  The  country  people  were  abroad  on 
Saturday  errands  for  mail,  buying,  and  meeting. 

It  could  not  have  been  worse  for  the  new  owners  of 
The  Barracks.  Jenifer's  aloofness,  his  attention  to  his 
own  affairs,  and  his  reported  skill  with  land  and  stock 
had  been  the  strongest  appeal  he  could  have  made  to 
the  world  beyond  his  gates. 

The  preacher  of  the  nearest  church  had  driven  in  to 
see  him;  the  politician  most  anxious  for  recruits  had 
made  his  way  down  that  long  lane:  and  both  were 
grateful  for  Jenifer's  quiet  welcome,  his  clear  speech, 
and  his  power  of  steady,  alert  listening. 

The  preacher  had  begged  aid  for  neighborliness 
from  one  in  his  church  he  knew  to  be  influential,  and 
hoped  would  prove  kind. 

He  had  waited  one  sunny  Sabbath  till  the  last  teams 
had  whirled  out  from  the  shadowing  oaks  and  only  one 
carriage  waited  near  the  door.  By  that  he  stood.  Be- 


Jenifer  115 

hind  him  the  sexton  was  closing  the  heavy  shutters 
upon  the  week's  long  stillness  in  the  aisles. 

"  Mrs.  Moran,"  the  preacher  interjected,  "  we  have 
some  new  neighbors." 

"  We  have  many,"  corrected  the  listener,  with  an 
accent  which  was  not  favorable. 

"  Yes,  yes."  He  nodded  slowly.  "  But  these  — 
The  Barracks'  people,  you  know,"  he  blurted  nervously. 
Mrs.  Moran  sat  silent.  "  I  don't  think  we  are  kind 
enough  to  these  newcomers." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  declared  Mrs.  Moran  whimsically, 
"  if  we  were,  we  should  find  no  time  for  lifelong  friends." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  so  bad  as  that.  You  seem  to  like  the 
Markens  well  enough.  They  are  from  Chicago." 

"  He  hunts." 

The  minister  laughed.  He  knew  that  was  passport. 
"  Perhaps  Jenifer  hunts." 

"Hm!"  said  the  lady  with  pursed  lips. 

"  Or  could." 

"  That's  another  matter,"  quickly.  "  My  dear  sir, 
half  the  country  is  in  the  hands  of  strangers.  From 
the  north,  the  west,  and  England  we  are  invaded. 
Fiction,"  scornfully,  "  and  advertisement !  Fiction 
has  done  more  to  sell  real  estate  in  the  state  than  all 
the  advertisements  will  ever  do.  We  prefer  to  be  less 
known.  And  —  "  her  pretended  haughtiness  instantly 
disappearing  —  "  to  cultivate  each  other." 

"  But  these  people  at  The  Barracks,  —  I  wish  you 
knew  them,"  the  minister  insisted. 

His  listener  tapped  her  carriage  with  an  impatient 
foot;  but  the  preacher  was  an  enthusiast.  He  had 


ii6  Jenifer 

something  to  say  about  his  own  impression  of  Jenifer 
and  he  knew  how  to  plead  in  other  places  than  the  pulpit. 

The  lady  looked  up  with  laughing  eyes  when  he 
ended.  "  Tie  your  horse  to  the  back  of  the  carriage," 
she  commanded,  "  and  get  in  and  drive  home  to  dinner 
with  me.  I  couldn't  persuade  a  soul  to  come  to-day. 
They  said  it  was  too  hot,"  she  shook  her  gray  head. 
"  If  you  will,  I'll  —  I'll  go,"  she  promised  suddenly. 

But  it  was  not  easy  for  her  to  do.  It  had  been  long 
since  Mrs.  Moran's  wheels  whirled  down  that  lane; 
and  she  recalled  slow  jaunts,  mad  races,  long  walks, 
and  low  talks  as  the  carriage  rolled  on.  Her  heart 
had  ached  to  tenderness  when  she  came  out  across 
the  crested  field,  and,  for  the  hour  at  least,  the  door 
of  her  liking  swung  on  its  hinges;  but  as  the  horses 
swept  under  the  apple-trees  and  into  the  circling  lane 
she  gasped. 

Under  the  big  mountain-ash  at  the  far  side  of  the 
lawn  stood  a  table;  a  siphon  was  on  it,  and  dark  bottles 
lay  in  the  grass.  Chairs  were  tilted  back  by  bareheaded, 
bare-armed  loungers.  A  young  man  lay  full  length 
on  the  ground  puffing  the  smoke  of  his  cigarette  in  the 
face  of  a  young  woman  who  leaned  above  him.  Men 
and  women  were  sitting  on  the  ground.  Two  tossed 
a  ball  from  hand  to  hand  and  shrieked  at  their  failures. 
Some  one  picked  on  a  banjo  and  half  the  crowd  was 
shouting  the  refrain  to  the  music,  and  a  man  and  woman 
romped  in  time  across  the  yard. 

Beneath  that  tree  had  been  built  a  bench.  She, 
the  comer  in  the  carriage,  and  the  child  and  woman 
she  had  loved,  the  dead,  had  found  it  a  dear  lounging- 


Jenifer  117 

place,  a  corner  for  whispered  confidences  and  peeps 
into  one  another's  heart. 

"  Drive  to  the  stable,  and  turn  around,"  Mrs.  Moran 
whispered  fiercely.  "  Fast !  Ah,  there  is  Mr.  Jenifer," 
a  sigh  of  relief  at  seeing  some  way  out  of  the  difficulty. 
"  Wait !  "  as  the  driver  turned  the  wheels,  "  I  will 
speak  to  him.  Mr.  Jenifer,"  as  Jenifer  came  instantly 
and  courteously  to  the  carriage  and  her  sweeping 
glance  took  in  his  tall  and  straight-hipped  figure,  his 
ease  of  bearing,  his  steady  eyes.  "  Mr.  Jenifer  "  — 
breathlessly  and  persuasively  —  "  we  have  been  hearing 
much  —  much  about  your  stock ;  and  —  and  it's  a  hobby 
of  mine  —  cattle,  horses ;  both.  I  thought  —  "  with 
easier  manner  of  affability  —  "I  would  drive  in  and 
see;  and  maybe  there  are  some  you — you  would  be 
willing  to  part  with." 

Jenifer's  look  and  words  spoke  pleased  assent. 

"  It's  a  hobby  of  mine,"  she  repeated,  with  a  nervous 
glance  over  her  shoulder.  Stillness  was  on  the  lawn. 
Alice  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  stood  hesitant.  "  We 
have  some  fine  stock  on  our  own  place.  Jerseys,  we 
keep;  I  hear  you  lean  towards  Holsteins.  Would  you 
show  them  to  me  ?  That  is,"  a  trifle  haughtily,  "  if  you 
could  leave  your  guests." 

Jenifer  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand  for  her  assist- 
ance. He  had  no  more  liking  for  that  crowd  beneath 
the  tree  than  had  his  visitor  and  no  more  desire  to 
invade  it.  "  This  way,"  he  said,  turning  his  back 
toward  the  yard. 

"  Drive  back  by  the  orchard  and  wait  for  me  there, 
outside  the  gate."  Mrs.  Moran  whispered  it  as  she 


n8  Jenifer 

followed  Jenifer,  but  her  tone  and  eyes  forbade  her 
driver  to  misunderstand. 

"  Where  are  the  cattle  ?  "  she  asked  quickly,  as  he 
closed  the  gate  behind  them.  "  The  pasture  used  to  be 
in  the  valley  behind  the  quarters." 

"  It  is  now.      We  have  changed  little." 

"  I  don't  know,"  with  a  rapid  glance  towards  the 
high  water-tower;  but  Mrs.  Moran  could  not  fail  to 
see  that  the  man  who  now  ruled  the  place  loved  it. 

She  had  intended  to  take  the  circuit  back  of  the 
quarters  and  by  the  pasture  and  around  the  garden  in 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  An  hour  had  passed  before  she 
put  foot  on  her  carriage  step. 

She  had  talked  cattle  to  her  heart's  content  and 
found  a  listener  as  enthusiastic  as  herself  and  wiser. 
She  had  seen  Jerseys  finer  than  her  own,  and  she  was 
half-convinced  of  the  values  of  the  Holstein;  she  had 
stood  by  the  paddock  railing  and  listened  to  the  pedi- 
gree of  the  colts,  and  named  one  which  she  begged 
Jenifer  to  exhibit  at  the  show  next  year.  She  had  come 
up  by  the  graveyard,  and  when  she  saw  its  careful 
keeping  the  warm  words  with  which  she  thanked  Jenifer 
came  from  an  impulsive  heart,  bringing  a  mist  before 
her  eyes  and  a  flush  to  Jenifer's  cheek. 

The  grasp  she  gave  Jenifer's  hand  at  the  carriage 
door  was  cordial ;  but  her  order  to  drive  on  was  spoken 
quickly,  and  "  Faster  "  she  commanded  when  out  of 
hearing  and  "  Faster  "  again,  as  they  sped  towards 
the  woods. 

The  trees  behind  her,  Mrs.  Moran  summed  up  the 
hour.  "  I  went  to  make  a  call,"  she  told  the  preacher, 


Jenifer  119 

"  and  I  bought  a  cow;  and  I  shall  never  go  again." 
And  the  preacher  knew  that  he  need  not  plead. 

The  life  which  had  thrown  out  a  tentacle  towards 
The  Barracks  shrank  from  it.  Swift  horses  and  tele- 
phone lines  bridged  the  distances  between  warm  hearts 
inside  the  scattered  houses,  and  there  was  gay  life 
across  the  hills :  but  Alice  —  and  Jenifer  —  had  missed 
a  share  of  it. 


XIII 

THE  difficulty  with  the  electric  light  was  overcome. 
A  wire  ran  up  the  smooth  side  of  the  water-tower, 
and  circled  its  crest  with  a  ring  of  points  which,  at  night, 
were  glowing,  brilliant  jets  of  white  fire,  flaring  into 
the  dark  and  hanging  like  a  crown  from  heaven  above 
the  hills. 

Jenifer  loved  it.  At  dusk,  under  the  midnight,  at 
pale  dawn,  to  him  it  was  a  visible,  yet  mystical,  sign 
of  blessing.  It  lighted  the  hills  for  his  joy;  and  was 
his  one  tawdry  whim. 

But  if  the  stars  shone  for  him,  and  he  had  set  a  circlet 
of  their  similes  above  him,  the  light  dipped  low  for 
some  down  by  the  Chowan. 

The  little  teacher  had  given  up  her  school.  She 
would  not  even  look,  at  dusk,  down  the  wide  level 
road  where  the  dim  light  of  the  short  days  lingered. 
Beyond  the  curve  and  the  woods  a  man  worked  in  the 
field,  she  knew;  and  the  laughter  of  the  children  troop- 
ing home  hurt,  because  she  could  not  echo  it. 

She  was  learned  in  the  lore  of  her  state.  She  knew 
the  boasts  it  had  begun  to  make.  She  read  the  women's 
columns  concerning  chickens  and  squabs,  ducks  and 
bulbs.  She  saw  the  promise  of  sudden  wealth  which 
blossomed  nowhere  else  as  in  print;  and  it  was  fine 


Jenifer  121 

irony  to  recall  that  she  might  labor  earnestly  for  a 
year  and  yet  lose  by  one  night's  robbery  from  her  roost 
the  precious  fowls  she  had  reared.  Or  to  remember 
that  if  her  muscles  had  ached  to  exhaustion  over 
her  small  fruit  rows  the  berries  would  have  been 
mush  before  that  slow  train  had  put  them  at  any  mar- 
ket: and  to  recall  that  such  things,  allure  one  as  they 
might,  need  first  strength,  then  time.  All  she  had  of 
either  was  first  her  mother's. 

It  was  useless  to  read  what  fold  land  such  as  hers 
would  bring  when  none  could  be  hired  to  work  it;  or 
to  understand  that  the  peanut,  planted  for  many  years 
for  the  children's  pleasure,  was  becoming  the  staple 
crop  of  the  county,  and  a  paying  one.  Who  would 
run  her  furrows  ? 

The  land  lay  about  her.  Its  riches  were  for  those  who 
bore  the  master  sign  of  strength;  and  till  by  such  they 
were  transmuted  her  acres  ran  to  sedge  and  swamp 
and  waste. 

She  must  tend  her  mother,  grown  an  invalid.  She 
must  cook  and  milk;  build  fires  and  clean  the  house; 
she  must  chop  wood  sometimes  and  work  the  garden 
when  she  could.  She  must  spend  half  the  year  in  find- 
ing a  negro  to  work  her  land  on  shares,  and  the  other 
half  in  urging  him  to  make  enough  to  pay  taxes  and 
give  them  food.  What  did  the  laborer  care  ?  He  had 
always  enough.  Were  he  hungry  there  was  plenty 
abroad  for  fingers  that  picked  not  too  honestly.  She 
must  look  at  empty  rafters  where  meat  should  have 
hung,  and  do  without. 

But  there  was  a  breath  of  colirage  in  the  girl  which 


122  Jenifer 

was  never  beaten  out.  When  she  failed  she  laughed ; 
and  when  her  strength  went  out  of  her  suddenly  —  as 
sometimes  it  would  —  she  knew  it  would  come  again. 
So  that  when  the  ax  fell  one  day  out  of  her  inert  hands 
she  sat  down  on  a  log  and  leaned  back  against  the  rough 
stacked  wood,  her  hands  clasped  about  her  knees,  and 
laughed  softly,  though  her  face  was  white  and  her 
figure  limp. 

When  Jack  Harrell  came  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  she  laughed  the  more.  "  I  couldn't  get  up  to 
save  my  life,"  she  excused  her  attitude. 

"  You  needn't,"  he  said  shortly.  "  What  have  you 
been  doing  ?  Bess !  "  as  he  saw  the  hacked  wood  and 
fallen  ax. 

"  We  have  got  to  have  a  fire.  You  don't  expect  us 
to  freeze  with  wood  in  the  yard ;  or  for  me  to  let  mother 
sit  there  by  the  hearth  and  not  a  stick  on  the  andirons. 
No,  indeed,"  she  cried  with  sudden  spirit. 

"  Where  is  Joe  ? "  naming  the  man  who  should 
have  been  working  on  the  place. 

"  He's  sleeping  by  day  and  'possum  hunting  by 
night,  as  near  as  I  can  make  out." 

"  He  hasn't  left  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  but  his  work  is  done,  most  of  it ;  and  the 
rest  doesn't  matter  to  him." 

"  He  gets  his  own  firewood  for  supplying  yours  ?  " 

Bess  reached  a  hand  behind  her  to  touch  the  stack. 
"  He  thinks  this  enough." 

"  It  isn't.  It  isn't  what  he  agreed  to  do,  either.  He 
was  to  cut  it.  I  shall  see  Joe  to-morrow.  You  are  not 
to  do  this  again.  I  shall  come  myself  and  see  —  and 


Jenifer  123 

see  —  "  Bess  was  smiling  roguishly.  "  Oh,  I  know 
I  can't  watch  you;  and  you  will  do  what  you  want  to." 

"  What  I  have  to  do,"  she  interrupted  gravely.  "  Don't 
fuss  over  what  can't  be  helped.  How  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  Walked,"  shortly. 

"  Oh,  that  is  why  I  didn't  hear  you.    You  —  " 

"  Cut  across  fields.  Your  mother  was  asleep,  and 
I  came  to  find  you." 

"  Here  I  am,"  she  leaned  forward,  and  looked  up 
at  him  from  beneath  her  lashes;  "  and  not  worth  a 
sixpence,"  she  added  saucily.  "  Jack,"  with  sudden 
vehemence,  "  there  are  ten  commandments,  ten.  I 
keep  them  every  one  with  their  '  Thou  shalts  '  and 
their  '  Thou  shalt  nots,'  all  but  one,  —  and  that  — 
Envy,  you  know.  No,  I  don't  want  my  neighbor's 
possessions.  I  am  glad  it  names  the  things  we  must 
not  envy,  —  oxen  and  servants  and  goods  within  our 
neighbor's  gates;  because  there  are  some  other  things 
my  neighbor  has  and  I  have  not,  and  if  they  were  meant 
I  should  be  the  worst  sinner  of  all. 

"  I  stopped  by  'Liza's  house  the  other  day  and  saw 
her  arms,  great  splendid  muscles,  rising  and  falling; 
and  she,  with  the  sweat  rolling  down  her  face,  singing, 
delighting  in  her  work.  If  I  had  such  muscles,  don't 
you  think  I'd  work  and  be  glad  to  ?  and  as  it  is  —  " 
She  held  out  her  slender  wrists  tragically. 

Jack  caught  them,  and  kissed  them  each  between 
the  palms  and  the  loose-fitting  cuffs.  Bess  did  not 
hear  the  exclamation  beneath  his  breath. 

"  Bess,  if  your  mother  —  " 

"  Don't  speak  of  her.    You  know  how  it  is." 


124  Jenifer 

"  And  mine  were  not  so  unreasonable. " 

"  You  might  as  well  suppose  anything,"  said  Bess, 
a  trifle  bitterly.  She  knew,  as  well  as  he,  that  nothing 
would  ever  reconcile  the  households,  neighbors  who 
had  never  agreed,  who  had  jarred  through  a  genera- 
tion; and  neither  could  be  left  alone. 

"  If  they  would  but  consent  to  live  pleasantly  to- 
gether! It  would  be  the  best  thing  to  make  them," 
he  added  savagely. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  try." 

"  Sometimes  you  can  be  too  thoughtful  of  others." 

"  Not  of  mothers."  But  Bess  might  have  told  which 
mothers  she  thought  need  most  care,  those  who  cling 
and  must  be  clung  to,  like  hers;  or  who  order  and  will 
be  obeyed,  like  Harrell's. 

"  One  must  think  of  himself,"  vowed  Jack  vehemently. 
"  Bess,  for  you  to  live  like  this,  while  I  —  I  cannot  do 
without  you  so  long.  I  had  thought  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"You  do  not;  not  half,  not  half,  I  tell  you.  How 
can  I  go  on  living  without  you,  and  thinking  of  you 
here  doing  things  —  things  like  this  ?  " 

The  anger  in  his  eyes  died  at  her  wistful  smile.  Her 
bonnet  had  slipped  back  from  her  head  and  hung  about 
her  neck,  her  face  peeping  from  it  like  a  rose  that  slipped 
its  sheath.  Her  blue  eyes  were  warm  and  loving  and 
hopeful. 

"  Oh,"  the  man  groaned,  "  I  knew  you  would  never 
see  it;  nor  anything  else  but  what  you  call  your  duty," 
he  added  bitterly. 

Bess    slipped    her   slender  work-hardened    hand    in 


Jenifer  125 

his.  Jack  remembered  when  the  touch  of  it  had  been 
soft  as  a  rose  petal  against  his  palm.  "  It  won't  always 
be  this  way,  Jack,"  she  assured,  the  pink  on  her  cheek 
at  the  thought  of  what  that  other  way  would  be. 

"  No."  Harrell  leaned  nearer,  his  gaze  sweeping 
her  drooped  face  and  bent  figure.  "  No,  I  couldn't 
bear  it;  and  I  won't."  He  dropped  her  hands,  and 
stood  up.  "  I  am  going  to  chop  this  wood.  You  should 
not  have  touched  it." 

"  We  must  have  supper,  sir,"  she  flashed. 

"  Then  you  go  and  cook  it."  He  laughed  as  he 
looked  down  at  her. 

"  If  you  will  stay.  Will  you  ?  "  She  had  sprung  to 
her  feet,  and  her  hands  were  clasped  before  her.  Her 
voice  was  coaxing,  her  glance  pleading;  laughing,  too. 

"  Not  to-night." 

"  Oh,"  with  a  little  sigh ;  and  she  turned  away,  pulling 
at  the  strings  of  her  bonnet  as  she  went. 

"  Bess !  "  Harrell  strode  by  her  side,  "  You  want 
me  ?  "  he  asked  inanely,  for  the  sake  of  hearing  her 
say  that  she  did. 

But  Bess  did  not  tell  him.  She  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  glance  that  was  as  swift  as  the  gleam  of  a  bird's 
wing. 

"  If  you  will  not  put  yourself  to  any  trouble,"  the 
man  began  to  temporize. 

"  No,"  she  assured  him  gravely. 

"  And  have  just  what  you  and  your  mother  would 
have  had." 

Then  Bess  laughed ;  she  was  sure  of  her  guest. 

"  Be  careful,"  she  cautioned  when  he  came  into  the 


126  Jenifer 

kitchen  with  an  armful  of  wood.  "  You  said  mother 
was  asleep.  Don't  wake  her.  Wait,  let  me  run  up 
and  see." 

She  tiptoed  back  again.  "  Sound !  And  it's  the 
best  thing  in  the  world  for  her.  She  slept  so  little  last 
night." 

Harrell,  after  a  look  around,  picked  up  the  water 
bucket  and  filled  it  at  the  shallow  well.  He  set  the 
tea-kettle  on  the  stove,  and  crowded  the  grate  with 
wood.  "  Now,"  he  vowed,  "  I  shall  see  you  have 
enough  wood  to  last  till  Joe  gets  home." 

"  You  expect  to  earn  your  supper,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  calmly;  but  Jack  still  lingered.  The  fire 
was  crackling,  the  light  leaping  out,  the  kitchen  dusky 
in  its  corners.  Through  the  pantry  door  he  could  see 
Bess  heaping  the  deep  wooden  tray  with  flour. 

"  Supper  will  be  ready  before  you  are,"  she  warned 
demurely;  and  he  turned  away. 

When  he  had  come  back,  and  piled  the  wood  softly 
in  the  box,  the  kitchen  was  too  alluring.  Bess  worked 
by  the  table.  A  ring  of  white  biscuit  with  a  dimple 
in  the  exact  centre  of  each  lay  around  the  wooden  tray, 
and  the  dimple  was  the  impress  of  her  thumb. 

"  I  wish  you  would  make  me  a  little  biscuit,"  he 
begged,  his  eyes  full  of  laughter  as  he  watched  the  deft 
play  of  her  swift  fingers. 

"  You !  "  scornfully,  as  she  manipulated  the  dough, 
flouring  it  and  her  pink  palms  alike. 

"  I  always  thought  they  would  be  nice." 

"  Thought !    Haven't  you  had  them,  lots  of  them  ?  " 

"  Not  one." 


Jenifer  127 

"  When  you  were  a  —  a  little  boy  ?  Your  mother 
made  them  for  you  ?  " 

Jack  almost  lied  when  he  saw  the  indignation  of 
her  eyes.  "  Well  never  enough,"  he  temporized. 

"  I  shall  make  you  —  six !  "  she  vowed  gaily. 

"  With  a  dimple  right  in  the  middle  of  each  ?  " 

Bess  whirled.  "  Go  along,"  she  cried,  as  she  brought 
one  floury  finger  smartly  down  his  cheek. 

When  the  bread  was  done,  the  coffee  hot,  the  ham 
sliced,  and  the  honey  set  out,  with  the  butter  by  its 
side,  then  the  lamplight  fell  on  those  two  alone  and 
the  man  stumbled  awkwardly  over  the  grace  the  girl 
bade  him  repeat. 

How  could  he  be  thankful  when  the  very  soul  of 
him  was  bitter  ?  When  his  prayer  was  not  thanks- 
giving but  a  wild  plea :  "  Lord,  in  Thy  might 
make  it  possible:  bring  her  to  my  keeping;  grant  me 
to  see  her  thus  always,  by  my  board;  and  soon  — 
soon!" 

He  saw  the  tremble  of  her  fingers  upon  the  cups 
and  the  flutter  of  her  long  lashes  when  she  laughed 
across  at  him.  And  this  might  be  always  were  it  not 
for  their  poverty. 

His  mother  bemoaned  that  she  and  her  daughter 
must  live  upon  a  farm.  She  had  been  bitten  by  fever 
for  the  town  since  she  had  visited  the  daughter  who 
lived  in  one.  Money  would  send  her,  make  her  satis- 
fied, and  leave  him  free.  The  desire  for  it  had  begun 
to  embitter  his  life;  and  he  knew  that  work  as  he  might 
the  labor  of  his  hands  would  never  support  a  household 
a  hundred  miles  away  and  also  that  of  his  own  for  which 


128  Jenifer 

he  longed  and  the  thought  of  which  alone  made  the 
present  bearable. 

With  this  maddening  thought  was  twisted  the  knowl- 
edge that  riches  greater  than  any  the  county  knew  had 
once  been  in  his  grasp;  that  down  in  the  solemn  woods 
which  had  been  his  was  wealth  great  as  that  the  moun- 
tains held;  and  the  gain  of  them  had  enriched  another. 
Harrell's  brooding  upon  it  did  him  no  good. 

He  had  never  spoken  what  he  thought;  but  now, 
looking  across  the  table,  "  Bess,"  he  exclaimed  bitterly, 
"  if  I  had  not  been  such  a  fool,  if  I  had  had  sense  enough 
to  know  for  myself  what  Jenifer  found  out,  all  that  — 
that  would  have  been  ours.  It  ought  to  be.  I  should 
have  it  now.  He  should  have  told  me.  It  was  —  it 
was  the  deed  of  a  thief.  I  have  been  robbed ;  robbed, 
I  say,"  he  declared  more  vehemently  than  he  should 
have  spoken. 

"  No."  Bess  was  white  at  sight  of  his  agitation. 
"  No,  you  can't  say  that.  It  is  not  true." 

"  It  is.  I  know  what  it  is.  God,  it  has  come  to  the 
point  where  I  can't  bear  to  see  the  cars  piled  with  that 
stuff  come  out  of  the  woods.  I  feel  —  If  he  had  but 
told  me.  We  would  have  shared,  somehow.  But  to 
take  it  all!  And  for  me  to  let  it  go!  May  the  Lord 
forgive  me  my  stupidity,  I  never  can." 

"  But  that's  not  right,  Jack;  it's  not  right.  What 
more  could  you  do  ?  How  could  you  have  known  ?  " 

"  I  should  have."  It  was  the  final  word,  the  crystaj- 
lization  of  what  he  felt.  In  long  hours  of  hard  work  he 
had  threshed  it  out.  Jenifer  had  robbed  him.  Jenifer 
had  known  the  value  of  the  land  when  he  bought  it; 


Jenifer  129 

and  whatever  the  law  of  the  country  might  be  a  higher 
law  denied  such  trickery. 

The  thought  cut  into  Harrell  deep.  He  was  sore 
for  his  own  loss;  and  more  because  he  might  have  saved 
the  woman  he  loved  her  hardships,  had  he  been  more 
vigilant.  As  the  price  of  his  stupidity  she  lived  the 
life  she  did,  while  his  own  was  bare  and  his  heart 
ached  for  lack  of  her. 

"  Jack,"  she  said,  slipping  around  to  his  chair,  her 
hand  like  a  feather  on  his  shoulder.  "  You  must  not 
think  of  it  so.  It  is  not  right.  It  is  —  " 

"  God,"  was  wrung  from  him,  "  it  is  hard." 

"  What  ?  This  ?  "  laughing  softly,  and  stooping  to 
peep  into  his  face. 

"  This  ?  No,  Bess,"  pulling  her  fiercely  down  to 
him.  "  I  must  have  you,  I  am  mad  because  I  cannot." 
Bess  nestled  still  for  a  moment,  the  touch  of  her  easing 
the  ache  in  his  heart.  Then  she  was  on  her  feet. 

"  Dear  me,  the  cows  must  be  fed,  the  chicken-house 
locked.  Jack  —  will  you  —  I  wish  you  would  do  it," 
she  asked  breathlessly,  her  face  turned  from  him, 
"I  —  "  her  hands  trembled  on  the  china  —  "I  must 
wash  these  dishes." 

Harrell  stumbled  out  of  the  room.  When  he  came 
back  the  table  was  cleared.  Bess  stood  in  the  door 
and  her  eyes  were  as  steady  as  the  stars. 

"  Must  you  go  ?  "  she  asked,  as  he  spoke  thickly  of 
haste  and  things  waiting  to  be  done.  "  Then  I  am 
going  to  walk  with  you  to  the  gate." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  to  come  back  alone  ?  "  Harrell 
asked  anxiously.  "  It  is  nearly  dark." 


130  Jenifer 

"  Not  a  bit,"  assured  Bess  gaily. 

"  You  ought  to  lock  the  doors  and  windows  fast  as 
soon  as  it  is  night." 

"  I  do.  They  are  fastened  now,  all  but  this."  Bess 
did  not  tell  how  often  she  shivered  behind  them.  She 
was  afraid  of  her  very  shadow. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  go,"  he  insisted.  Yet 
Harrell  longed  for  that  saunter  with  her  in  the  dusk. 

"  I  will,  sir." 

They  went  slowly  across  the  level,  weed-grown 
yard.  Mulberries  were  set  like  marching  soldiers 
down  the  fence  and  around  to  the  gate,  their  branches 
meeting  above  it;  and  their  yellow  leaves  were  blown 
abroad.  The  moon,  swinging  above  the  swamp,  made 
long  shadows  of  the  house  and  chimney-tops,  and  of 
the  trees  beside  the  gate. 

Harrell  closed  it  behind  him,  and  leaned  on  its  bars 
and  looked  down  at  her. 

The  waving  shadows  of  the  mulberries  were  not 
altogether  bare.  The  mistletoe  clustered  thick  in  the 
branches,  their  shadows  blurred  upon  the  leaf-strewn 
grass.  Harrell  looked  up  suddenly,  and  then  across 
at  the  girl's  face;  and  in  a  second  he  had  caught  the 
little  shawl  Bess  had  flung  about  her  head,  and  held 
it  at  either  side,  her  sunny  head  prisoned  within.  So, 
he  kissed  her.  The  mistletoe  above  them  was  his 
pretended  excuse. 

"  That  is  no  reason,"  Bess  panted.  "  The  mistletoe 
grows  here  always." 

"  So  do  kisses,"  the  young  man  said. 


XIV 

ALICE  followed  the  gay  crowd  to  the  city,  and  flitted 
home  but  again  too  leave  it.  She  filled  the  house  with 
a  Christmas  party  which  was  gayer  than  her  summer 
guests:  and  again  was  gone. 

Jenifer,  seeing  that  she  missed  much  which  he  had 
expected  of  her  and  taking  her  moods  with  masculine 
wonder,  let  her  have  her  way. 

The  remoteness,  the  stillness  and  the  sounds  that 
broke  it,  the  short  bitter  days  and  the  long  black  nights 
had  been  to  Alice  unendurable.  The  rutty,  bemired 
roads  shut  her  to  the  house;  and  if  she  would  sec  Grame, 
she  must  make  opportunity.  The  guests  and  her  com- 
ings and  goings  had  snapped  the  intimacy  of  rides 
and  chance  meetings.  Alice's  following  of  the  crowd 
had  been  half  in  instinctive  defense  from  a  budding 
danger;  and  temptation  lurked  in  the  desolation  left 
behind.  The  woman  fled. 

Jenifer  and  Wheatham  were  ashamed  to  find  that 
their  days  had  thus  been  simplified.  Each  in  his  blun- 
dering fashion  had  reached  out  to  aid  her,  and  both 
had  failed;  Wheatham  chiefly  because  he  had  come 
again  to  the  absorption  of  inspiration  and  interpre- 
tation, Jenifer  because  of  the  happy  vigor  of  his  life, 
his  silent  strength,  and  that  new  fascination  which 
claimed  the  hours  he  spent  within  the  house. 
131 


132  Jenifer 

Her  going  left  each  free  to  follow  his  own  way, — 
Wheatham  to  his  table  and  the  wistful  look  towards 
the  peaks  when  fancy  flowed  too  sluggishly;  Jenifer 
to  the  joy  of  the  hills  in  storm  and  sleet  and  drifting 
rain,  in  clear  cold,  or  folding  mists  when  all  the  world 
in  sight  was  his. 

If  Alice  fretted  against  the  loneliness  of  her  life  here 
and  if  she  were  happier  for  a  while  at  her  girlhood's 
home,  Jenifer's  indulgence  abetted  her.  His  sense  of 
protection  made  him  excuse  her  to  Wheatham. 

"  She  doesn't  like  it  up  here  in  winter,  you  see.  I 
suppose  it  is  —  well,  cut-off  like  to  her.  She  has  been 
used  to  the  city.  If  she  were  fond  of  anything  to  do 
now,"  he  added  helplessly,  "  sewing  or  reading.  — 
There  are  books  enough,  heaven  knows."  They  were 
in  the  library.  "  If  she  were,  it  might  —  it  would  be 
different.  All  the  women  I  have  ever  known  were  busy 
enough,"  he  floundered.  "  The  only  trouble  seemed 
to  be  they  could  never  find  time  to  do  all  the  things 
they  wanted  to  do.  Still  —  Oh,  well ;  it  doesn't  matter, 
you  know.  I  want  her  to  do  what  she  likes  best,"  he 
declared  stoutly. 

Wheatham,  in  truth,  had  begun  to  feel  disdain  of  the 
listless  figure,  the  dull  eyes,  and  drooping  mouth.  To 
have  only  Jenifer's  vigorous  content  as  companion  to 
his  dreaming  mood  was  ideal. 

"  Well,  things  are  different  from  what  you  have 
mostly  seen,"  he  began  carelessly  and  cynically.  "  A 
woman  used  to  be  compelled  to  work  in  order  to  have 
the  things  she  wanted.  Now  she  need  not.  What  is 
the  use  of  sewing  when  some  one  is  waiting  and  anxious 


Jenifer  133 

to  do  it  for  you  and  when  you  can  get  half  the  things 
you  want  already  made  ?  And  pickles  and  preserves 
are  standing  on  the  store  shelves  waiting  to  be  bought. 

"  Fact  is,  woman  has  been  talking  emancipation  for 
so  many  years  that  she's  got  it,  only  not  just  the  sort 
she  expected,"  he  chuckled  gracelessly.  "  Still  she's 
free,  if  she  pleases.  And  what  is  she  doing  with  her 
freedom  ?  She  quotes  man  as  example.  The  work  of 
the  world  has  so  divided  into  lines  that  he  has  got  to 
leave  the  crossings  and  keep  to  one,  and  trot  a  pretty 
good  pace  on  that  one,  too.  For  what  ?  Bread  and 
meat,  my  boy."  Wheatham  was  enjoying  his  mono- 
logue hugely;  and  it  served  the  purpose  of  diverting 
their  thoughts  from  personalities.  "  Bread  and  meat; 
and  never  were  they  harder  worked  for.  But  woman ! 
Man,  what  is  she  going  to  do  with  the  thing  she  has 
fought  through  two  generations  for?  As  far  as  I  can 
see  those  who  fought  hardest,  the  leaders,  battled  for 
a  purpose.  They  knew  what  they  wanted,  where  they 
had  been  restricted.  But  all  these  idle  sisters  in  their 
train ! 

' '  In  the  sweat  of  thy  brow,'  "  added  Wheatham 
dreamily,  turning  in  his  chair  to  watch  the  fire,  "  '  In 
the  sweat  of  thy  brow  '  —  God  knew  the  blossom  he 
put  beside  the  thorn.  The  Creator's  high  and  un- 
written promise  which  follows  on  that  vow  is,  '  So 
doing  man  shall  find  joy.' 

"  Happiness,"  the  monologue  went  fitfully  on,  "  the 
world-old,  world-wide  quest.  I  found  its  secret  long 
ago.  Do  you  want  to  hear  it  ?  "  —  he  leaned  forward 
eagerly  and  peered  through  the  cloud  of  smoke  at 


134  Jenifer 

Jenifer.  —  "  It  is  to  do  the  work  you  long  to  do,  to 
breathe  the  breath  of  your  life  into  it,  to  see  it  live. 
Just  now,"  he  added  with  a  touch  of  cynicism,  "  one 
must  be  sure  that  the  Public  wants  it  —  and  will  pay 
for  it."  He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair.  His 
quick  look  at  Jenifer  was  searching.  Wheatham  was 
not  used  to  talking  freely,  and  he  had  been  saying  some 
things  he  meant;  not  talking,  as  at  first,  merely  for 
effect. 

One  tie,  and  a  strong  one,  between  them  was  that 
neither  he  nor  the  man  who  listened  needed  to  beat  out 
their  thoughts  with  speech;  but  that  each,  divining 
somewhat  of  the  other,  was  willing  to  leave  that  other 
to  development. 

Jenifer,  his  head  thrown  back  against  the  cushions 
of  the  chair  and  his  long  limbs  straight  before  him, 
was  listening  silently.  The  undrawn  curtain  left  in 
view  the  moon-flooded  and  untrodden  lane  with  the 
drifted  fences  and  snow-cushioned  stile.  The  settling 
of  the  snow  and  the  snapping  of  laden  branches  made 
sharp  and  sibilant  sound. 

"  Tough  tramping  to-day  ?  "  asked  Wheatham,  as  he 
glanced  like  Jenifer  through  the  clear-paned  windows. 

"  Tough  ?  "  Jenifer  laughed.  The  sting  of  the  snow 
upon  his  face,  the  settling  of  it  upon  his  shoulders,  the 
sight  of  the  veil  drifting  down  the  valley  and  shutting 
out  the  mountains,  —  Jenifer  had  not  called  it  "  tough." 
He  had  been  thinking,  as  he  silently  watched  the  racing 
flames,  of  the  mystic  peaks  which  guarded  the  mountain 
world  like  gleaming  pickets  against  the  moonlit  sky 
and  of  the  sheltered  cattle,  the  housed  horses;  an<? 


Jenifer  135 

remembering  how,  flaring  out  across  the  snow,  the 
circling  lights  shone  about  the  tower. 

Living  —  the  breath  of  life  alone  —  seems  enough 
for  some.  Was  it  thus,  taking  God's  daily  gifts,  He 
meant  life  to  be  ?  If  so,  man  has  wandered.  Such  fret 
of  fear,  such  tangle  of  planning,  such  piling  of  breaks 
between  him  and  disasters  which  never  blow,  till  all 
his  strength  has  gone  in  futile  work,  and  that  which 
should  have  been  done  with  unvexed  mind  and  skilful 
hand  is  forever  marred,  or  left  untouched. 

But  Jenifer  lived,  splendidly,  freely,  with  a  hint  of 
broader  life  and  a  possibility  of  firmer  grasp.  Wheatham 
had  become  aware  of  the  roundness  of  the  man's  thought 
and  its  completeness;  and  how  he  envied  the  quality 
Jenifer  could  not  guess. 

The  artist  got  up  lazily,  and  walked  to  a  book-shelf, 
fingering  the  volumes  upon  it.  "  Half  the  time  I  read," 
he  said  carelessly,  "  I  don't  care  what  it  is.  Something 
to  carry  the  mind  easily  along  the  story's  train  is  all  I 
want,  something  to  ease  its  own  thinking,  something  — 
Pshaw !  I  want  to  hear  the  birds  sing  and  see  the  sun 
shine,  and  know  that  this  old  world  is  moving  right 
when  I  read.  As  for  this  pulling  out  of  the  heart's  strings 
to  hear  them  twang  —  Lord,  deliver  me ! 

"  Half  the  time  a  man  himself  couldn't  tell  why  he 
did  a  thing.  A  hundred  reasons,  or  the  total  of  them 
all,  might  move  him.  Yet  the  man  who  writes  a  tale 
is  wont  to  insist  on  only  one  —  and  that  the  purpose  of 
the  story;  while  many  a  thread  is  tangled  to  make  the 
cord.  Thank  God,  the  unravelling  is  not  mine.  It 
is  hard  enough  to  paint  a  face,  but  words  —  Lord  1 


136  Jenifer 

"  As  for  you,  man,"  moving  restlessly,  coming  back 
to  the  table  and  leaning  across  it  and  laughing  at  Jeni- 
fer's lazy  content,  "  as  for  you,  or  what  you  would  do 
at  some  unexpected  moment,  I  wouldn't  give  a  guess, 
a  hint;  nor  could  you." 

"  No,"  said  Jenifer,  flushing  under  the  scrutiny, 
"  nor  care.  What's  the  use  of  thinking  about  it  ?  Sets 
you  wool-gathering.  Have  another  smoke." 

In  some  such  fashion  the  evenings  went.  Quiet 
often;  words,  sometimes;  long  silences!  To  Jenifer 
the  winter  slipped  by  like  a  single  magic  day.  Before 
he  had  learned  its  moods  the  haze  was  on  the  mountains 
and  the  green  crept  through  the  Valleys. 

"  I  must  tell  Alice  she  ought  to  be  here.  She  is  miss- 
ing all  this,"  he  declared  enthusiastically.  Wheatham 
was  following  him  out  of  the  dining-room.  The  door 
of  the  wide  hall  was  open.  The  spring-like  air  blew 
through,  and  Jenifer  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  door 
which  opened  towards  the  quarters.  Blue  were  the 
peaks,  purplish  blue.  Bees  were  humming  in  the 
warm  air;  fowls  clucking  in  the  yard.  *'  I  must  tell 
her,"  he  repeated. 

"  When  ? "  asked  Wheatham  with  quizzical  look. 
Jenifer's  decisions  were  sudden  and  curious.  The 
artist  found  himself  looking  for  them,  and  weighing 
them  when  they  came  with  an  amusement  which  was 
sometimes  mixed  with  astonishment. 

"  To-day  will  do.  Everything  will  be  out  in  no  time. 
She  will  miss  it  all  if  I  don't." 

Wheatham  recalled  the  last  intelligence  of  her.  The 
theatre,  a  dance,  new  clothes,  —  gay  notes,  all  of  them, 


Jenifer  137 

and  sounding  of  the  street.  How  would  these  weigh, 
with  her,  against  the  blossoming  of  the  spring  jessamine 
or  the  budding  of  the  lilacs  in  the  hedge  ? 

"  To-day,"  dreamily,  "  right  now."  Jenifer  walked 
rapidly  up  the  hall.  He  stopped  by  the  telephone. 

"  Better  wait  till  the  roads  are  settled,"  warned 
Wheatham  quickly  as  he  followed. 

"  The  carriage  can  get  in  easily  enough.  Ben  can 
drive  slowly." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  call  her  up  now  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ? "  Jenifer  saw  before  him  always  the 
one  thing  which  he  would  do,  and  he  was  hindered  by  no 
doubt  of  it.  He  was  ringing  the  telephone  while  he 
answered.  Wheatham  lingered  to  listen  amusedly. 

What  he  heard  was  sufficiently  simple.  The  protests 
were  from  the  other  end  of  the  wire.  The  directions 
from  this  end  were  explicit:  and  the  date  and  hour 
selected  were  of  that  day. 

"  Think  of  staying  in  the  city  such  a  time  as  this. 
Man,  she  ought  to  see  it,"  with  a  broad  sweep  of  his 
hand.  The  men  were  on  the  porch.  "  The  orchard 
will  be  in  bloom  soon,"  added  Jenifer.  "  Lord,  I  pity 
those  who  miss  it." 

So  did  Wheatham;  but  he  pitied,  also,  the  woman 
who  saw  it  perforce  and  missed  its  significance.  The 
artist's  quick  nature  stirred  with  sympathy  for  her 
restlessness  when  Alice  had  come.  That  swaying  figure 
which  paced  the  halls  and  loitered  at  the  doors  and 
hung  from  out  the  windows,  and  found  nothing  satisfy- 
ing from  any  loophole  of  her  view,  was  like  a  weight 
upon  his  fancy.  He  found  himself  waiting  for  calm  upon 


138  Jenifer 

her  face  before  there  could  be  quiet  of  his  pulses  and 
freedom  of  his  thought:  and  none  came;  instead,  he 
felt  a  watchful  consciousness  of  her  which  he  detested. 

He  wondered  at  his  dismay  when  he  saw  her  cross 
the  yard  one  morning  to  intercept  Grame.  So  far  the 
Englishman  had  kept  to  himself;  but  Alice  made  the 
move  boldly. 

Sunshine  of  March  was  about  her  and  it  was  warm 
and  sweet,  with  blue  sky  far  above  her  head  and  soft 
airs  to  woo.  Wheatham,  through  his  open  door,  saw, 
as  always,  the  notes,  the  hints  of  something  the  woman 
might  have  been  but  never  was;  and  he  berated  him- 
self for  his  distrust  when  her  high  voice  carried  to  his 
ears. 

Alice  asked  about  her  horse;  Grame  answered  briefly. 
Was  the  horse  in  the  stable  ?  Had  the  winds  dried  the 
roads  ?  Were  they  fit  for  riding  ?  She  would  try  them 
anyhow;  could  he  go?  She  named  the  hour  when  she 
would  be  ready. 

Then  the  light  laugh  which  ended  all  her  speeches! 
Why  had  it  always  rung  false  to  Wheatham?  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  to  watch  her  as  she  walked; 
tall,  easy  of  movement,  past-mistress  in  the  art  of  gown- 
ing;—  and  the  sunny  yard,  the  waving  shadows  of 
budding  branches  across  it  —  What  was  amiss  with 
it  and  with  him?  Untuned,  lowered  from  the  key  of 
his  work,  his  fingers  lay  inert. 

Jenifer,  that  night,  vowed  that  Alice  must  ride  every 
day.  Her  cheeks  were  already  rosy.  Soon  she  would 
be  sunburned  and  strong.  He  himself  would  go  with 
her;  if  he  did  not,  Grame  could.  But  Jenifer's  intentions 


Jenifer  139 

settled,  through  carelessness  on  his  part  and  purpose 
on  hers,  into  non-fulfilment.  The  routine  was  of  the 
summer  —  the  gallop,  the  twilight,  and  the  hour  of 
the  day. 

Now  her  rides  with  Grame  and  her  manner  were 
marked.  Grame  was  neither  overseer  nor  groom,  and 
his  work  was  not  typical.  Although  at  first  he  had  been 
ready  to  assume  the  manner  and  garb  of  livery  he  was 
quick,  when  not  called  upon  to  do  either,  to  forget 
them  both.  Ready  to  serve  as  he  had  been  born  and 
bred,  he  was  yet  alert  to  the  standards  of  a  new  land; 
and  he  had  recognized  that  she  who  ruled  with  careless 
hands  the  house  he  served  was  yet  of  his  own  kind. 
The  strength  of  Jenifer's  nature  set  him  apart,  above, 
a  master  to  be  served;  but  Alice,  glorified,  perhaps, 
by  her  setting  and  made  shining  by  her  garments,  was 
of  his  class.  Worst  of  all,  Grame  loved  her. 

He  had  fought  against  it  sullenly  and  weakly;  and 
had  kept  to  his  quarters  when  she  returned.  But  Alice, 
blindly  determined  upon  something  which  would 
amuse,  had  openly  reinstated  the  order  she  herself 
had  been  glad  to  escape.  Once  more  begun,  the  old 
way  was  easy,  and  more  fatal. 

The  coquetry  of  her  manner  when  their  horses  were 
on  the  highroad,  the  something  that  he  was  none  too 
anxious  to  conceal  when  the  long  lane  was  between 
him  and  the  man  he  served,  must  be  apparent;  and 
Alice  ignored  too  utterly  those  passers-by  who  seemed 
unobservant. 

The  thing  wore  an  ugly  tinge.  Wheatham,  who 
divined  it,  and  Ben,  who  knew,  were  desperate.  They 


140  Jenifer 

felt  themselves  traitors  to  Jenifer  in  his  ignorance;  and 
they  feared,  with  deadly  fear,  his  faintest  knowledge. 
Wheatham,  with  no  whimsical  wonder  now  as  to  what 
Jenifer  would  do,  was  sure  only  of  the  horror  of  what 
it  would  be :  and  the  artist's  love  and  loyalty  kept  him 
dumb  till  he  felt  he  could  bear  it  not  an  hour  longer. 
But  then  the  end  was  near. 

The  riders  came  over  the  hill  slowly  one  day  at  dusk. 
The  orchard's  bloom  had  been  scattered  across  the 
grass;  the  locusts  were  white;  the  blossoms  had  died 
from  the  lilacs;  and  green  hedges  and  tall  trees  made 
early  darkness  in  the  lane. 

Alice  slipped  from  her  saddle  and  stood,  her  habit 
tight-held  about  her,  looking  down  at  Grame.  Fur- 
rows of  passionate  perplexity  were  on  her  face;  her 
breath  was  a  long  heave  at  her  breast.  He,  with  one 
searching  look  at  the  unlighted  house  and  empty 
yard,  struck  the  horses  sharply.  Both,  knowing  the 
careless  customs  of  the  house,  thought  themselves  un- 
seen. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  begged  Grame  hoarsely.  "  You 
have  not  said  a  word.  I  —  You  have  promised  noth- 
ing. Wait!" 

Long  as  the  way  had  been  not  half  had  been  said. 
The  love  that  had  been  slow,  at  first,  strangled,  deflected, 
that  had  shown  but  a  glance  or  broken  word,  had, 
fostered  by  the  woman's  coquetry,  gone  its  way  to 
flood;  and  it  had  swept  her  with  it. 

Grame  was  mad  in  his  earnestness  and  his  urging. 
Flight  and  England,  he  pleaded  for;  and  Alice  was  as 
mad  as  he.  Lacking  just  scales  and  broad  balance,  she 


Jenifer  141 

had  coaxed  herself  to  the  belief  that  this  alone  was 
love  and  that  she  had  missed  it  and  been  defrauded. 

The  man's  broken  words  were  hoarse  and  low,  the 
lilacs  thick,  the  shadows  heavy.  Jenifer,  coming  up 
from  the  garden  squares,  turned  that  way  and  sauntered 
by  the  hedge.  He  walked  carelessly,  light-heartedly; 
and  the  young  grass  hushed  his  steps. 

The  tones  of  passion  breathed  through  the  branches 
in  his  very  ear.  They  were  what  the  dusk,  the  evening 
star,  the  perfume  of  the  roses  demanded ;  but  who  would 
have  thought  to  hear  them  here  ?  To  whom  could  such 
words  be  spoken  ?  Jenifer  was  rigid  with  astonish- 
ment, yet  laughter  twitched  at  his  mouth.  Then  he 
heard  the  voice  that  answered. 

His  leap  was  clear  and  clean.  In  one  breath,  one 
heat  of  passion,  Grame  lay  in  the  grass;  and  Alice, 
Jenifer's  hand  upon  her  arm  compelling  her,  sped  to 
the  dark  house,  up  the  black  stair,  to  her  room.  Jeni- 
fer's touch  flared  the  lights  in  the  gaudy,  tinselled  room 
which  she  had  bedecked;  and  as  he  looked  at  her  in 
her  fit  setting  Jenifer  knew  that  the  fancy  he  had  taken 
for  love  had  fled.  He  loathed  her.  He  despised  the 
white  face  and  frightened  eyes  and  whimpered  assur- 
ances of  her  innocence.  He  did  not  hear  them.  He 
grasped  the  exact  significance  of  what  he  heard,  and 
knew  it  for  the  sequel  of  the  wiles  by  which  he  himself 
had  been  won  and  others  lured ;  the  end  of  a  coquetry 
which  she  had  allowed,  but  whose  climax  she  was  too 
weak  to  grasp. 

"  Stay  here,"  he  commanded  without  a  glance  at  her 
white  horror. 


142  Jenifer 

Wheatham  was  shouting  his  name  in  the  hall. 
"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Jenifer  calmly,  coming  down 
the  stair. 

"I  —  The  horses,"  Wheatham  panted.  "  Is  any 
one  hurt  ?  The  horses  —  came  to  the  stable  —  alone." 
Wheatham  cursed  himself  for  his  vehemence;  but 
pull  himself  together,  or  speak  coherently,  he  could 
not.  His  nerves  had  been  too  long  on  edge.  He  had 
been  leaning  on  the  fence,  watching  the  slow  coming 
of  the  night,  when  Ben  ran  up  to  him. 

"  De  bosses  in  de  stable;  dey's  loose  dyar;  de  hosses 
dey  rode.  An'  de  saddles  on  'em.  An'  I  don't  see  dat 
man  nowhars.  Gawd's  sake,  Marse  Wheatham,  whar 
is  he?  Whar  is  she?  "  And  Wheatham  had  started 
running  to  the  house.  He  reiterated  his  question: 
"  Is  any  one  hurt  ?  " 

"  He  is  dead,  I  think,"  said  Jenifer  clearly. 

"  God  !     Where  ?  " 

"  In  the  lane,"  and  at  Wheatham's  rush  of  steps 
Jenifer  turned  aside.  He  flooded  with  light  the  hall, 
the  library,  every  wide  room  upon  the  floor;  and  he 
was  in  the  hall  when  Wheatham,  shaking,  stumbled  up 
the  steps  of  the  door  which  opened  towards  the  quar- 
ters. 

"  Well  ?  "  demanded  Jenifer  sharply. 

"  He  —  he  —  "  Wheatham  gasped,  his  breath  too 
short  for  speech. 

"  He  is  dead,  I  hope." 

"  He  is  not.  Have  you  no  .sense  ?  "  catching  Jenifer 
roughly  by  the  shoulder. 

The    smile    on    Jenifer's    face    chilled    Wheatham's 


Jenifer  143 

fierceness.  "  Come  in  here,"  the  master  of  the  house 
commanded. 

The  library  had  come  to  be  Jenifer's  room.  He 
took  out  his  check-book  now,  filled  one  blank,  an- 
other. 

"  You  will  go  to  New  York  to-night,"  he  said  to 
Wheatham  evenly.  "  You  will  take  him  —  " 

"  The  man  is  half-dead." 

"  You  will  take  him  with  you.  This  "  —  as  if  the 
paper  scorched  him  —  "is  his;  a  year's  wages.  With 
this  —  take  what  you  need.  Buy  his  ticket.  Pay  every 
expense.  See  him  aboard  the  ship.  Watch  him  sail. 
If  ever  he  puts  foot  on  this  side  the  ocean  again  I'll 
kill  him.  If  he  should  write  to  her,  or  seek  to  have 
her  join  him,  it  will  be  both.  Let  him  know." 

"  The  man  cannot  be  moved,"  began  Wheatham 
hotly. 

Jenifer  hushed  him  with  a  gesture.  "  The  carriage 
will  be  ready  for  you  at  the  stables.  You  start  from 
there  in  fifteen  minutes.  You  will  catch  the  midnight 
train.  And  — "  looking  him  squarely  in  the  eyes, 
"  you  will  go." 

Go!  With  that  half-conscious  man  beside  him, 
with  Ben  ashy  white  in  the  starlight  and  his  teeth  chat- 
tering, Wheatham  obeyed. 

The  roll  of  wheels,  ominous  in  the  stillness  of  the 
black  night,  was  the  last  sound  but  the  breath  of  the 
wind  that  the  old  house  heard  for  many  an  hour. 

The  servants,  knowing  little,  slept.  The  woman 
up-stairs,  feelmg  God  knows  what  horror  of  remorse 
or  shame,  slept  also;  but  the  wide  doors  were  open, 


144  Jenifer 

and,  white  and  clear,  the  lights  shone  out  into  the  night. 
White,  too,  the  crown  of  fire  hung  above  the  hills. 

Jenifer  went  from  room  to  room  looking  about  him 
steadily  and  slowly,  —  the  dark  gleaming  floors,  the 
red  mahogany,  the  shining  brass,  the  dim  old  portraits. 
The  breath  of  long  living  was  in  the  house,  the  hint  of 
history,  and  the  throb  of  passion.  He  loved  it.  But 
for  what  had  it  stood  for  him  ?  For  what  did  it  stand  ? 
Treachery!  Here  had  been  born  the  passion  whose 
touch  debased  his  ancestry.  Here  the  woman  who 
was  his  had  listened  to  the  whisperings  of  dishonor. 
As  he  had  loved  it,  he  hated  it.  The  white  flare  of 
light  flickered  red  before  him.  If  he  had  had  any 
knowledge  of  himself  Jenifer  would  have  feared  his 
own  calm  more  than  any  whirl  of  furious  rage. 

He  could  sit  and  watch  the  stars.  The  locusts  were 
luxuries  of  perfume.  A  late  narcissus  gleamed  like  a 
candle-flame  dropped  in  the  grass.  An  old  and  wasted 
moon  came  up  behind  the  peaks.  Still  Jenifer  sat, 
his  arm  on  the  window-ledge.  A  moan  of  midnight 
wind  stole  through  the  hall,  —  and  a  thin  blue  trail. 

He  never  saw.  Feathery  and  slow  its  fellows  trailed 
after  it.  Jenifer  watched  the  shadows  beneath  the 
hedge,  the  tall  trees,  the  clearing  light  across  the  fields. 
Dark,  heavy,  pungent,  a  smoke-column  rolled  through 
the  hall  and  house;  crackling,  hissing  noises  broke  out; 
the  quarters,  awakened  from  sleep,  set  up  wild  clamor 
of  confusion :  and  a  shriek  rang  over  the  railing  of  the 
stair. 

From  the  tower  Jenifer  watched  the  dawn.     In  the 


Jenifer  145 

dim  duskiness  he  saw  the  servants  huddled  in  the  yard. 
Dull  smoke  rolled  above  the  house-walls  and  drifted 
down  about  them.  By  him,  above  his  head,  the  points 
of  light  showed  yellow  in  the  coming  day.  The  dawn 
with  long  fingers  stealing  through  the  peaks  plucked 
at  the  darkness  in  the  vale,  and  a  bird  called  clear 
across  the  fields;  Jenifer,  from  his  height,  looked  down 
on  what  the  night  had  hidden  and  the  day  lay  bare. 


XV 

"  THERE  is  a  letter  on  Mr.  Wheatham's  table." 
Jenifer's  voice  was  a  deadly  monotone.  "  See  that  he 
gets  it." 

"  Marse  Jen'fah,  Marse  Jen'fah,"  Ben  cried,  his 
fingers  shaking  on  the  harness  he  was  pretending  to 
clean.  The  cotton  jacket  and  jockey  cap  which  Ben 
affected  gave  to  his  ashy  skin  and  rolling  eyes  a  touch 
of  absurdity.  "  What  is  you  gwine  do  now  ?  "  he  de- 
manded, driven  to  bay  by  the  horror  of  that  night  and 
day.  It  had  not  been  twenty-four  hours  since  the 
mistress  of  the  house  had  come  riding  over  the  hill 
with  Grame.  Now  —  "  What  is  you  gwine  do  ?  "  Ben 
again  demanded. 

"  I  ? "  Jenifer  stood  in  the  dusky  stable  aisle.  His 
figure  loomed  tall  and  tense  between  the  whitewashed 
stalls.  His  eyes,  dark  and  expressionless,  gazed  straight 
ahead,  over  Ben's  shoulder,  and  his  face  was  as  white 
as  the  wash  upon  the  walls. 

"  I  ? "  he  repeated  monotonously,  his  gaze  so  direct, 
as  if  seeing  something  beyond  the  negro,  that  Ben, 
shivering,  turned  to  peer  across  the  square  of  light  at 
the  wide  door. 

"  Lawd,  Gawd-a-mlghty !  "  the  negro  cried.  "  Dyar's 
spooks  all  ovah  dis  place.  I  done  heard  tell  o'  dem 
146 


Jenifer  147 

hyar,  but  I  nebbah  seed  'em.  I  feels  'em  now.  De  hot 
air  blow  'roun'  me  all  de  way  up  from  de  pastu',  puff, 
puff,  right  in  my  face,  an'  dat's  de  bref  o'  de  ha'nts  you 
can't  see.  Sumpin  done  loose  'em  hyar.  Ise  feard, 
Marse  Jen'fah,  deed  I  is;  Ise  feard." 

Jenifer  stood  with  the  sound  of  the  negro's  voice  in 
his  ears,  but  he  understood  not  a  word. 

"  An'  now  —  "  Ben  stopped  short.  The  harness 
rattled  to  the  floor,  and  the  negro  clung  to  the  nearest 
stall;  but  he  could  say  not  a  word,  Jenifer  stood  so 
straight,  and  his  face  was  set  like  a  mask.  All  day  Ben 
had  feared  him  worse  than  he  feared  the  ha'nts. 

The  negro  remembered  that  race,  long  past  the 
black  still  midnight,  across  the  hills,  jolting,  jarring, 
the  red  sparks  flying  beneath  the  horses'  hoofs;  and 
the  burst  of  far-away  red  flames  that  licked  into  the 
sky.  Ben  knew  where  they  burned.  Through  the 
smoke's  drifting,  sometimes  above  it,  he  saw  a  crown 
of  fire  shining  serene  and  clear  into  the  night. 

He  remembered  his  reeling  horses  in  the  lane;  the 
huddled  servants  in  the  yard;  and,  at  Wheatham's 
door,  white,  fear-stricken,  Alice ! 

Jenifer  was  nowhere;  nowhere,  though  Ben's  wild 
gaze  searched  for  him. 

The  negro's  tongue  had  cloven  to  his  mouth  when 
he  stumbled  over  the  carriage  wheel.  His  leaden  feet 
would  scarce  drag  him  to  the  gate.  The  clang  of  it 
behind  him  set  his  nerves  jumping  in  his  icy,  fear- 
paralyzed  body;  and  close  upon  the  sharp  sound  he 
had  heard  a  voice,  clear  and  calm,  and  calling  from 
above. 


148  Jenifer 

Ben  fell  to  his  knees:  his  shaking  fingers  coveted 
his  face.  "  Marse  Jen'fah "  was  dead.  His  spirit 
was  calling. 

"  Ben !  "  kindly  and  reassuringly,  and  a  common- 
place question  was  added. 

Ben  looked  up  to  see  Jenifer  coming  down  the  rungs 
of  the  spiral  stair ;  but  the  negro  was  not  a  whit  ashamed 
of  the  terror  he  had  felt. 

And  that  day!  The  housing  of  the  furniture  that 
had  been  sa-ved;  the  coming  of  awed  neighbors,  and 
their  futile  offers  of  belated  help ;  Jenifer's  calm  mastery 
of  the  household  and  of  them;  the  fallen  chimneys, 
the  reeling  smoke;  the  low  reckoning  of  damages  the 
neighbors  made.  The  sturdy  walls  had  well  resisted. 
Fallen  chimneys  were  on  one  side,  the  roof  toppled  in 
to  ruin,  floors  scorched  and  blackened,  windows  burst; 
and  the  acrid  smoke  filled  yard  and  quarters,  and 
rolled  beneath  the  stable  rafters. 

Ben  had  been  at  Jenifer's  heels  when  he  strode  across 
to  the  arcade  before  Wheatham's  door  and  stood  look- 
ing at  Alice  cowering  on  the  step  which  led  to  the  artist's 
room. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go  home,"  Jenifer  had 
said.  Alice  had  started  at  the  word  and  the  way  in 
which  it  had  been  used.  Never  before  with  Jenifer 
had  it  meant  any  place  but  this.  Now  he  had  em- 
phasized it  meaningly.  Her  frightened  eyes  had  sought 
his  and  questioned  him.  "  There  is  no  way  of  making 
you  comfortable  here,"  he  had  said  coldly. 

Ben  had  put  the  horses  to  the  carriage  which  bore 
the  mistress  of  the  house  to  the  station.  He  had  stood 


Jenifer  149 

watching  them,  Jenifer  straight  on  the  seat  and  driv- 
ing like  the  wind,  and  Alice,  with  face  hidden  be- 
hind winding  veils,  huddled  on  the  cushions  behind 
him. 

Ben  knew  of  the  long  stern  silence  between  those 
two.  He  did  not  know  that  it  had  been  broken  neither 
on  that  gray,  smoke-thickened  dawn,  nor  in  the  clear 
light  that  lay  upon  the  long  road;  that  there  had  been 
neither  accusation  nor  defence.  Once  Jenifer  in  that 
interminable  drive  had  turned  to  say:  —  "You  will 
find  money  in  the  Calvert  bank  on  which  you  can 
draw,"  and  he  had  named  a  sum  which  was  twice 
the  value  of  the  house  the  deed  to  which  was  hers. 
"  The  interest  of  it  is  at  your  disposal,"  he  had  added 
significantly. 

Then,  when  Jenifer  had  returned,  Ben  had  followed 
him  from  field  to  pasture,  from  wood  to  paddock; 
and  there  was  a  finality  in  Jenifer's  directions  which 
had  kept  Ben  dumb  till  this  hour. 

"  Marse  Jen'fah,"  he  pleaded  now,  "  whar  is  you 
gwine  ?  " 

Jenifer  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  said 
His  voice  was  low  and  hoarse. 

"  You  —  you  gwine  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Jes  fer  a  little  while  ?    You'll  come  back  to-night  ? " 

"  No." 

"  To-morrow  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Den  Ise  gwine  too-  Ise  gwine  stay  hyar  not  a  day 
longer.  I  hates  an'  'spises  dis  place,"  in  sudden  passion. 


150  Jenifer 

"  De  ha'nts  is  aftah  it,  an'  dey  can  hab  it.  Ise  gwine 
too." 

"  Where  ? " 

Ben  was  routed.  "  Some  —  somewhar,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  Ben,  do  you  want  to  go  ?  Are  you  tired  of  it  ?  " 
Jenifer's  inflectionless  voice  softened  to  kindly  tones. 
"  Would  you  rather  go  back  ?  Leave  ?  Is  it  —  Do 
you  really  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  Want  to  go  away  ?  Want  to  go  whar  ?  "  Ben 
fairly  blubbered.  "  Ain't  no  place  on  Gawd's  earth  I 
wants  to  be  but  hyar  —  when  you  is  hyar  —  an'  when  — 
Gawd,  Marse  Jen'fah,  ef  you  jes  wouldn't  look  lak 
dat!" 

"  Who  would  look  after  things  ?  and  take  care  of 
Hector  and  Dandy  and  Lady  Blue  ?  "  Jenifer's  lips 
twisted  into  a  smile  as  he  named  Ben's  favorites.  "  What 
would  become  of  them  ?  Wheatham  will  be  here,"  he 
added.  "  But  if  you  don't  want  to  stay  —  " 

"  An'  we  was  gwine  enter  Lady  Blue  fer  de  ribbon 
dis  fall !  She'd  'a'  took  it  sho." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  enter  her." 

"  Who's  gwine  do  it  ? "  Ben's  flaming  interest 
burned  out  a  fraction  of  his  agony. 

"  You.    Wheatham  will  tell  you  what  to  do." 

"  An'  train  her  ?  "  Delight  peeping  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eyes. 

Jenifer  nodded  his  assurance. 

"  Lawd !  "  Ben's  laugh  was  short.  The  sound  of 
it  startled  himself.  "  Who's  gwine  ride  her  ? "  he 
anxiously  demanded. 


Jenifer  151 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't." 

"  Me !  "  falling  back  against  the  stall,  and  his  teeth 
a  shining  row.  "  Ride  Lady  Blue  at  de  show !  Go 
'long,  Marse  Jen'fah.  Guess  ef  I  trains  her  I'll  have 
to  train  myse'f  too.  Ise  gettin'  fat  dese  days,"  he 
chuckled.  "  Leas'ways  I  was,"  pulling  a  solemn  face. 

"  Take  good  care  of  her  and  do  the  place  and  your- 
self credit.  And  look  out  for  Mr.  Wheatham  all  you 
can."  Jenifer  spoke  absently,  as  if  his  thoughts  were 
far  from  his  words.  He  took  a  step  towards  the  door, 
and  caught  Lightfoot's  bridle  in  his  hand. 

Ben  sprang  before  him  and  stood  in  the  square  of 
light,  his  hands  spread  wide  and  flung  above  his  head. 
"  You  ain't  gwine  so,  Marse  Jen'fah  ?  You  ain't  gwine, 
an'  nobody  knows  whar,  an'  nothin'  'bout  it  ?  " 

"  I  must."  Jenifer's  hand  kindly  put  the  negro  aside. 
His  look  seemed  to  reassure,  and,  as  the  negro  leaned 
limp  against  the  door,  Jenifer  sprang  into  the  saddle, 
sat  for  one  still  moment  gazing  upon  blackened  house 
and  trampled  yard,  at  red  hills  and  sweeping  moun- 
tains, then  rode  slowly  and  unquestioned  along  the 
circling  lane,  past  the  orchard,  over  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

Behind  him  was  the  love  of  the  old  house  which  had 
mounted  to  worship;  behind,  the  valleys  and  silent 
woods;  the  content;  the  dawn  of  higher  things;  his 
home,  his  wife,  and  all  his  past.  What  was  before  he 
neither  cared  nor  would  direct. 

Lightfoot  paced  daintily  through  the  wood  and  lane, 
and  the  broad  red  highway  stretched  hard  before  them. 
The  only  twitch  Jenifer  gave  the  rein*  was  to  turn  her 
from  the  town.  It  was  nearly  dusk  when  they  rode 


1^2  Jenifer 

out  of  the  winding  lane,  it  was  dark  when  they  reached 
the  road.  Jenifer  would  have  no  man  see  him,  and 
would  himself  see  none;  no  one  now  would  know  him 
in  the  wide  black  way. 

The  stars  were  in  the  east,  above  the  peaks  behind 
him ;  and  towards  the  west  was  wilder  land ;  and  beyond 
it  higher  mountain-tops.  Where  they  brushed  the  sky 
was  wilderness  impenetrable,  and  in  its  fastnesses  was 
a  scattered  folk  unknown,  proud,  distant,  and  disdain- 
ful of  the  hills  and  valleys  at  their  feet.  Those  piercing 
peaks  had  allured  Jenifer's  boyhood.  The  mystery  of 
the  unexplored  and  the  wild  tales  whispered  of  them 
made  them  now  a  refuge. 

Close  as  their  blackness  massed  against  the  darkening 
sky,  the  peaks  were  far.  Jenifer  went  slowly,  the  reins 
on  Lightfoot's  neck,  following  the  broad  deserted  road 
till  towards  dawn  he  came  upon  a  way  which  led  straight 
west  and  up. 

It  was  quickly  light,  the  early  dawn  of  a  late  spring 
day,  and,  resolved  that  no  one  should  see  him  or  know 
where  he  went,  Jenifer  pulled  aside  where  a  stream 
crossed  the  road  between  steep  and  deep  wooded  hills, 
and  sent  Lightfoot  splashing  up  it.  The  horse  was 
thirsty,  but  her  rider  kept  her  head  high  till  a  curve, 
and  another  hid  them,  and  beech  and  chestnut  and 
oak  dipped  across  the  way,  and  alder  and  bramble 
made  a  thicket  by  the  brook's  rocky  bed.  Then  he 
slipped  wearily  from  the  saddle.  It  had  been  two 
nights  since  he  slept.  With  Lightfoot  following  he 
climbed  to  dry  earth;  and  when  Jenifer  had  tethered 
her  in  a  dip  of  the  woods,  where  a  trickle  of  moisture 


Jenifer  153 

fed  rank  grass,  he  threw  himself  down  on  the  leaves 
the  dew  had  not  touched  —  so  thick  were  the  boughs 
above  —  and  he  was  asleep  before  the  sunshine  stole 
through  the  branches.  Warm  and  soft  and  pure  the 
air  blew  about  him;  dreamless,  motionless  he  slept, 
and  eased  the  madness  of  his  passion. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  dark.  Lightfoot  was  whinny- 
ing softly  and  uneasily;  and  when  Jenifer  stood  for  one 
still  moment,  his  arm  upon  the  horse's  neck,  and  looked 
down  the  dim  wood  in  which  night  deepened,  a  thrill 
of  expectancy  wakened  in  him.  He  had  put  the  deep 
forgetfulness  of  sleep  between  that  night  and  this,  as 
one  puts  miles  behind  him  when  he  travels  between 
far  severed  points;  and  he  was  as  ready  for  this  night 
as  the  traveller  is  for  strange  discoveries.  Toward 
such  he  went.  He  knew  it  as  the  road  grew  steep  and 
narrow,  winding  and  rocky;  as  it  lay  deep  shadowed, 
narrower  and  rougher,  and  Lightfoot  slipped  upon 
worn  stones.  But  he  was  not  aware  that  Lightfoot 
had  turned  aside  from  the  road  and  struck  a  trail.  He 
saw  how  steep  it  climbed,  how  wild  was  the  black 
earth  on  either  hand,  and  how  the  peaks  seemed  to 
tower  at  his  side  and  to  touch  the  skies.  Light- 
foot  had  taken  the  rougher  way  into  a  pocket  of  the 
peaks. 

Where  the  hills  opened,  as  if  for  gateway,  ran  a  level 
tree-set  place.  Beyond  the  orchard  towered  taller 
trees.  Jenifer  caught  the  gleam  of  a  light,  and  heard 
the  rushing  of  a  stream,  but  the  way  wound  so  steep 
that  he  slipped  from  his  saddle  and  climbed  the  path  by 
Lightfoot's  side. 


i^4  Jenifer 

Up,  on  either  hand,  ran  the  circling  mountains. 
They  shut  him  close  in  amongst  their  peaks  and  brawl- 
ing streams  and  wild  rocks  and  black  woods.  The 
way  closed  behind  them  as  they  climbed,  and  all  the 
earth  was  this  dark  hollow  in  the  towering  hills,  and 
all  the  sky  the  star-set  blue  which  caught  upon  its 
crests. 

It  was  a  shock  to  his  exhilaration  amidst  the  savage 
loneliness  to  catch  a  sudden  shout,  to  lose  it,  to  hear 
again  a  loud  singsong,  and  to  see  the  shimmer  of  a 
light  above  him. 

He  lost  it  and  the  sound,  as  he  climbed;  but  the 
light  flickered  down  through  thick  branches,  where 
they  came  out  higher,  and  he  turned  Lightfoot's  head 
towards  it.  Slipping  on  mossy  stones  and  over  rough 
earth,  the  dew-wet  leaves  slapping  his  cheek,  Jenifer 
pushed  on.  A  boulder  hid  the  light,  and  before  he 
rounded  the  mass  of  stone  a  strong  voice  rolled  again 
into  the  night,  a  voice  in  prayer.  Earnest,  exultant, 
beseeching,  in  wild  and  superstitious  terms  it  pleaded 
and  ended. 

Jenifer  coming  nearer  saw  a  flaring  torch  beneath  a 
rough,  strange  shelter.  A  tall,  straight,  fiery-eyed  man 
towered  beside  the  light.  A  few  people  stood  before 
him  and  he  lifted  his  hands  as  if  in  blessing. 

Astounded,  the  watcher  waited  till  the  short  words 
were  spoken  and  the  people  scattered.  He  could  hear 
their  slipping  steps  and  the  crashing  of  the  branches 
through  which  they  pushed.  The  man  who  had  led 
them  had  not  followed.  He  stood  still  and  rapt.  Rot- 
ting rafters  were  over  his  head,  rough  supports  for  the 


Jenifer  155 

roof  about  him;  and  at  his  feet  broken  and  twisted  pipes 
of  iron  and  decaying  wood. 

Jenifer  stepped  into  the  light.  The  preacher  turned 
at  the  unexpected  sound  and  they  stood,  measuring 
one  another  by  the  flaring,  wind-blown  light.  Tall 
and  straight  fashioned  were  they  both ;  slow  of  speech, 
unless  moved  by  stormy  passion,  it  might  be  guessed; 
firm  of  mouth  each  was,  and  stern  of  glance.  The 
flickering  light  showed  the  preacher's  face  most  plainly. 
Jenifer  —  and  Lightfoot  behind  him  —  were  limned 
against  the  night. 

"  Whar  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

That  primal  question  Jenifer  did  not  mean  to  answer. 
He  stood  silent. 

"  Are  you  lost  ?  " 

"  No,"  assured  the  stranger  calmly. 

"  Know  your  way  'bout  here  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Hm !  "  with  a  lightning  glance  and  measurement. 
"  Trying  to  cross  the  mountains  ?  " 

Jenifer  laughed.  The  queries  were  so  sharp  and 
blunt. 

"Not  to-night,"  he  said  carelessly. 

"  Tired  ?  " 

"  Not  much." 

"  Nowhar  for  you  to  stay  'round  here.  What  in  the 
nation  possessed  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  anxious  about  a  place  to  stay.  This  will 
do  as  well  as  any." 

"  This !  You  know  what  this  is,  what  it  was  ?  " 
with  something  of  the  wild  inflection  of  his  preaching. 


156  Jenifer 

"  A  still !  A  still !  One  of  the  las'  the  law  put  down. 
Here,  where  the  people  come  to  sell  their  souls,  I  come 
to  save  them.  Every  man  in  the  Hollow,  I've  got  them 
all;  an'  I  fight  the  Devil  for  'em  here,  right  here,  whar 
I've  seen  'em  layin'  dead  drunk.  Talk  'bout  payin' 
license,  thar's  no  license  for  sech  as  I've  seen.  An' 
we've  got  shet  of  it.  Yes,"  to  himself;  and  then  step- 
ping down  and  nearer,  and  looking  keenly  at  Jenifer. 
"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Wooten,"  said  Jenifer  quickly. 

"  Wooten !  "  The  old  man  stood  for  a  second  agape. 
"  Wooten !  "  He  snatched  up  the  torch  and  strode 
nearer  to  the  stranger.  The  light  fell  full  on  Jenifer's 
face.  His  eyes  looked  squarely  back,  and  calmly  and 
steadily.  Suddenly  the  preacher  quenched  the  light. 
"  So  is  mine,"  he  said  shortly.  "  Come  on  home,  son  1  " 


XVI 

"  WANT  anything  to  eat  ?  "  The  old  man  stood  at 
his  unlocked  door.  "  Had  any  supper  ?  Lan'  !  "  at 
Jenifer's  answer  and  his  short  laugh.  "  Turn  your 
horse  loose;  he'll  find  all  he  wants,  water  an'  grass; 
an'  come  'long  in,  in  the  lean-to."  The  last  syllable 
was  strongly  accented. 

"  Name  o'  Goshen,  whar  is  the  lamp  ?  "  as  he  stumbled 
over  a  chair.  "  Here !  here  'tis !  "  The  preacher  lighted 
it,  and,  opening  the  door  of  a  tin  safe,  stood  peering  at 
the  half-filled  shelves.  "  Ain't  much  here ;  but  if  you're 
hongry  —  well,  you  can't  starve.  Corn-pone,"  —  he 
set  it  out,  —  "  meat  "  —  cold,  and  in  a  platter  of  hard- 
ened gravy  —  "  molasses,"  with  a  flourish.  "  Set  to ! 
Help  yourself.  Lan' ! "  with  a  laugh  that  echoed  up 
the  gorge,  "  a  hongry  man  is  none  too  pertickler.  Hold 
on.  I'll  get  some  milk;  plenty  down  in  the  run." 

The  old  man  was  gone.  Jenifer  could  hear  him  slip- 
ping and  sliding  down  the  steep  rocky  path,  but  he 
waited  for  nothing.  He  was  starved. 

"  Gosh-a-mighty !  "  laughed  Wooten  at  the  door. 
"  Help  yourself!  It  makes  me  hongry  to  see  you  eat." 
He  filled  a  thick  mug  with  foaming  milk,  and  then 
another.  "  B'lieve  I'll  draw  up  myself.  Milk  an' 
pone  an'  meat,  'tis  good  sho,"  he  vowed  as  he  sliced 

157 


1 58  Jenifer 

the  hard  bread  with  his  pocket-knife,  and  speared  at 
the  cold  meat  in  the  dish.  "  It  certainly  does  taste 
good." 

Jenifer  ate  ravenously.  The  small  smoked  hand- 
lamp  threw  a  feeble  light  upon  the  rough  table.  The 
dull  gleam  showed  the  young  man's  face,  white,  worn, 
yet  with  an  odd  look  of  exultation  on  it,  and  the 
preacher's,  on  which  the  exalted  fierceness  of  the  meet- 
ing in  the  still  yet  lingered. 

For  the  old  man  such  gleams  were  fitful,  and  apt 
to  be  quenched  to  a  steady  light  of  jovial,  lazy  living. 
The  sins  against  which  he  passionately  lifted  his  voice 
at  such  high  moments  were  wont  to  seem  matter  of 
course  to  him  in  his  every-day  life;  and  the  one  against 
which  he  most  raged  might  have  been  said  to  be  con- 
doned by  his  own  habits. 

The  lean-to  had  for  its  roof  split  chestnut  saplings 
running  from  the  logs  of  the  inner  cabin,  in  which  they 
fitted,  spreading  fan-wise  outward  from  a  central  point 
to  lower  boarded  sides.  Boards  and  saplings  should 
have  joined  but  did  not,  from  their  rude  putting  together; 
and  above  the  boards  ran  a  rough  shelf  beneath  the 
eaves.  Contrivances  of  all  sorts  were  hidden  on  it,  — 
an  ax-helve,  a  powder-horn,  drying  gourds,  red  peppers, 
brown  tobacco  leaves,  and  amongst  them  a  squat  gray 

jug- 

The  old  man  felt  no  qualm  of  conscience  as  he  fumbled 
for  it,  and  rinsed  his  mug  and  poured  into  it  a  drink 
browner  than  the  milk.  "  Have  a  tetch  ?  "  he  asked 
hospitably.  "  Lan'  ! "  at  Jenifer's  astonishment, 
"  you're  thinkin'  'bout  what  I  said  back  thar.  Well 


Jenifer  159 

now,"  straightening  himself  and  looking  with  humorous 
glance  at  his  stranger  guest,  "  you  see  I  ain't  sayin'  a 
word  'bout  a  little,  jus'  a  little,  bought  fair  and  square, 
an'  kep'  for  comfort.  No,  sir;  'tis  makin'  a  dog-gone 
fool  o'  yourself  I  preach  against,  an'  spendin'  the  money 
that  ought  to  be  buyin'  meat  an'  clothes  for  your  family." 

"  Are  you  married  ?  "  asked  Jenifer  hastily. 

"  Not  now,  not  right  now,"  the  old  man  answered 
sheepishly,  his  head  turned  somewhat  aside. 

Jenifer  breathed  freely.  He  wanted  solitude;  beyond 
all,  a  womanless  solitude.  "Living  by  yourself?" 
Jenifer,  his  hunger  satisfied,  pushed  back  his  plate 
and  leaned  across  the  table,  looking  at  the  man  who 
had  befriended  him. 

The  preacher  had  still  a  spoonful  of  red  liquor  in 
his  mug,  and  he  pushed  the  heavy  china  back  and 
forth  on  the  table  with  awkward  hands.  "  Looks  like 
it,  don't  it  ? "  he  fended.  "  Got  enough  ?  Can't  eat 
no  mo'  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly.  "  Won't  take  a  drop  ?  " 
his  hands  on  the  jug.  "  Time  to  smoke  then.  Lan', 
I'm  glad  you  will !  Seems  like  you  don't  know  what 
sort  o'  fellow  a  man  is  till  you've  seen  him  smoke  a 
pipe.  If  he's  forever  jerkin'  at  it  an'  puffin*  the  smoke 
out  in  little  squirts,  that  man  is  braggy  an'  pepper- 
tempered,  always  goin*  to  do  more  than  anybody  else, 
an'  never  doin'  nothin'."  Wooten  was  moving  heavily 
about  the  room,  searching  for  his  pipes  and  reaching 
for  the  tobacco  leaves.  "  If  he  jus'  sets  an'  lets  his  pipe 
hang  out  o'  his  mouth  till  it's  fairly  gone  out,  he's  too 
darned  lazy  for  any  good.  But  when  a  man  has  et  his 
meal,  an'  sets  down  for  a  good  smoke,  an'  sees  the 


160  Jenifer 

tobacco  red  at  the  top  o'  the  bowl  an*  the  smoke  curlin* 
steady  up  in  the  air  —  Lan',  'tis  good.  'Tain't  never 
been  tetched! 

"  Here's  a  pipe,"  the  old  man  added  in  a  tone  of 
satisfaction.  "  I  whittled  the  pith  out  o'  the  cob  an' 
cut  the  reed  myself.  Fill  up !  " 

Wooten  settled  himself  comfortably  on  the  log  step, 
and  Jenifer  threw  himself  on  the  hard  earth  beside  it. 
The  night  was  cool,  but  not  chill  to  them.  The  brawling 
of  the  streams  and  the  singing  of  the  wind  down  the 
steep  mountainsides  filled  the  Hollow  with  soft  sounds. 
In  the  starlight  Jenifer  could  see  the  clearing,  the  rough 
cabin,  the  low  shelter  for  cattle  near  it,  and  the  small 
garden  patch. 

The  preacher  seemed  to  have  seized  on  the  only 
space  between  the  peaks,  a  slope  bounded  by  rocky 
streams.  One  stream  they  had  crossed,  springing 
from  stone  to  stone,  to  reach  the  cabin ;  the  other  foamed 
over  the  boulders  beyond  the  hut;  and  the  mountain 
seemed  to  rise  straight  and  sheer  from  stream  to 
stars.  No  light  twinkled  on  the  close-set  peaks, 
nor  was  a  sound  heard  from  the  steep  dense  woods. 
Jenifer  wondered  where  there  was  room  for  the  folk 
he  had  seen  to  live.  He  asked  Wooten. 

"  Here  and  thar,"  answered  Wooten  carelessly. 
"  Lots  o'  room.  Seems  like  you  can  walk  straight  up 
these  sides,  now  don't  it,  son  ?  an'  'tis  clear  two  miles 
up  the  Hollow  till  you  get  to  the  droppin*  off  place,  an' 
two  miles  down  to  whar  you  turn  in  to  get  here;  yes, 
sir,  spite  o'  the  way  she'll  deceive  you  some  clear  mornin,' 
like  a  woman,  when  she  gets  a  chance,  beckonin*  you 


Jenifer  161 

on,  an'  promisin'  'tain't  noways  you  got  to  come,  or 
nothin'  you  got  to  do;  an'  the  faster  you  go,  or  the 
harder  you  work,  the  farther  both  are."  He  chuckled 
at  his  speech,  and  drew  harder  on  his  pipe. 

"  Room  here,  plenty  o'  room,"  the  old  man  repeated, 
watching  Jenifer  shrewdly,  "  an'  ain't  nobody  goin'  to 
bother  you  in  it.  No,  sir.  'Long  'bout  'lection  time 
some  man  might  fin'  his  way  up  here  —  but  I  manage 
that  myself,  the  'lections;  they  done  come  to  leave  us 
mos'ly  alone.  An'  that's  'bout  the  only  face  you  see 
what  don't  b'long  here,  right  here  in  the  Hollow." 
He  nodded  encouragingly  to  Jenifer. 

Wooten  was  well  used  to  crime.  He  had  seen  murder 
done  and  the  man  who  committed  it  go  free.  For 
theft  he  had  scarce  a  name,  the  deed  was  so  common, 
the  petty  pilfering  from  neighbor  to  neighbor.  Stealing 
was  a  big  word,  and  an  awful  thing. 

If  Jenifer  fled  from  the  consequences  of  any  rash 
act,  as  the  preacher  thought,  he  had  found  refuge. 
He  himself,  who  ruled  the  Hollow,  would  see  to  it; 
for  Wooten  had  instantly,  and  strongly  and  impulsively, 
liked  the  clear-eyed,  still-lipped  man  who  had  faced 
him  steadily  beneath  the  flaring  torches  at  the  still; 
and  he  would  have  sworn  to  his  rightfulness,  if  not  to 
his  innocence.  The  law  of  the  Hollow,  and  its  judgments, 
was  primitive. 

The  name,  too,  the  old  man  thought,  was  strange 
and  it  held  for  him  a  whimsical  attraction.  None 
bore  it  in  the  Hollow  but  those  of  his  kin ;  and  amongst 
them  was  a  legend  of  a  Hessian  officer  of  wild  life  and 
deeds  foregathering  with  an  outlaw's  daughter,  and 


162  Jenifer 

living  and  dying  in  the  windings  of  the  gorge.  It 
pleased  the  preacher  to  steal  furtive  glances  at  Jenifer's 
long  straight  limbs  —  such  were  his  own;  —  at  the  young 
man's  thick  black  hair  —  such  his  had  been;  —  at 
Jenifer's  clear  cut  face  propped  by  his  elbow  in  the  grass. 

"  These  here  nights,"  —  the  old  man  began  slowly, 
after  long  and  silent  musing,  "  seems  like  a  shame  to 
sleep  an'  lose  'em.  Air  so  sof  an'  sweet,  sort  o'  like  — 
sort  o'  like  honey  when  'tis  good  an'  fresh,  an'  you  fairly 
taste  the  blossoms  in  it.  An'  then  the  days,"  laughing 
softly,  "  you  couldn't  miss  them.  An'  if  you  want  to 
be  up  an'  have  a  look  at  to-morrow,  good  an'  early  — 
well,  I  'spect  we'd  better  be  gettin'  'long  to  bed,  son. 
Lan' !  "  for  Jenifer,  his  head  upon  his  arm,  the  pipe 
between  his  fingers  in  the  grass,  lay  sound  asleep. 
"  Son,"  the  old  man  repeated,  leaning  to  touch  him 
lightly,  "  'tis  time  to  go  to  bed." 

"  I  hope  you  slept  as  well  in  the  bed  as  you  did  in 
the  yard,"  Wooten  asked  in  the  morning. 

"  Sound  as  a  top,"  Jenifer  asserted. 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do  to-day  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  only  knows."  Jenifer  stretched  his 
arms  above  his  head,  and  Wooten  laughed. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  'bout  myself,"  he  vowed. 
"  Thar's  nothin'  right  to  han'  this  minute;  but  thar'll 
be  plenty,  plenty  befo'  the  day  is  done.  An'  first  thar's 
breakfas'.  I  ain't  no  han'  much  at  cookin',"  he  warned. 

The  old  man  was  right  as  to  his  kitchen  skill.  The 
soda  biscuits,  made  in  honor  of  his  guest,  were  streaked 
and  sodden.  The  eggs  he  had  striven  to  poach  so  that 
"  the  whites  and  yellows  sot  straight "  were  broken 


Jenifer  163 

to  uninviting  fragments;  the  coffee  had  the  color  of 
the  mountain  stream  in  its  shallows. 

"  Fact  is,"  the  preacher  acknowledged,  as  he  reached 
up  to  the  shelf  beneath  the  eaves,  "  I  ain't  much  used 
to  doin'  without  women  folks." 

"  Thought  you  said  you  lived  by  yourself,"  said 
Jenifer  quickly. 

"  Thought  I  was  an  ol'  bach  ;  Ian* ! "  The  old  man's 
sniff  was  indignant  and  defiant.  "  Well,  I  am  jus' 
now,"  he  added  plaintively. 

"  Come  'long,"  he  called  in  despair  when  they  had 
tried  to  straighten  up  the  room  and  table;  "  'tain't  no 
use  fussin'  here  no  longer.  We  couldn't  get  things 
lookin'  like  —  like  they  ought  to  be.  Shucks !  it  don't 
matter  nohow.  I'm  goin'  down  the  mountain  a  piece 
to  see  'bout  some  wood ;  want  to  go  ? " 

Jenifer  was  ready. 

With  the  sunshine  stealing  through  the  peaks  the 
young  man  could  see  what  the  night  had  hidden;  — 
how  thick  the  locusts  grew  on  the  steeps,  drooping  their 
clustering  blossoms  beneath  their  flickering  leaves; 
how  brown  showed  the  new  leaves  on  the  oaks;  how 
thick  the  chestnuts  grew,  how  tall  the  hickories  and 
poplars;  how  rank  were  the  ferns  that  brushed  their 
feet;  and  how  amongst  them  and  the  grass  flamed 
indian  pinks,  scarlet  and  broad-lipped  and  thick- 
clustered  —  glowing  fire  betwixt  the  green. 

The  path  struck  the  trail  Lightfoot  had  followed. 
"  This  is  the  way  you  come  in,"  the  old  man  said 
laconically.  "  Wonder  how  you  found  it."  He  was 
still  curious,  but  Jenifer  was  silent. 


164  Jenifer 

"  Thar's  whar  Hutchins  lives,"  pointing  to  a  cabin 
clinging  like  a  nest  far  up  the  mountainside;  "an* 
that  path  goes  up  to  Stith's.  See  that  peak  up  thar, 
between  the  trees  ?  That's  Shiflet's." 

"  Who  lives  there  ? "  asked  Jenifer  quickly,  as  a 
cabin  showed  down  the  trail.  It  was  on  the  right,  on 
the  same  slope  On  which  Wooten's  cabin  stood,  a  tongue 
of  land  between  two  streams  and  broadening  as  it 
fell. 

"  Whar  ?  "  Wooten's  hand  running  up  the  back  of 
his  head  tilted  his  hat  further  over  his  eyes,  an  awkward 
gesture  of  embarrassment.  "  Thar  ?  Nobody." 

"  Who  owns  it  ?  "  demanded  Jenifer  suddenly. 

"  I  s'pose  'tis  mine." 

"  Want  to  rent  it  ?  " 

"To  — what?" 

"  To  let  anybody  live  in  it  ?  " 

"Well,  that  depends  on  who  'tis;  mos'  people  I 
don't  want  thar.  No,  sir.  Ain't  nobody  lived  in  it 
for  three  years.  But  I  look  after  it,  an'  —  " 

"  I  want  to  see  it,"  said  Jenifer  tersely,  as  he  struck 
a  way  through  the  willows  and  across  the  rocks,  Wooten 
following  with  slow  reluctance. 

The  cabin  had  its  twin  in  the  house,  the  lean-to, 
and  the  shelter  above  them.  Beside  it  sang  the  stream 
and  beyond  the  water  towered  the  peak.  It  looked  as 
if  the  hut  had  dropped  to  the  bottom  of  a  cup  of  green- 
ness through  which  the  waters  sang  and  the  winds 
stole  and  over  which  the  sky  shone,  all  for  that  one 
cabin  far  beneath  its  sheltering  rim. 

"  Who  lived  here  ?  "  asked  Jenifer  quickly. 


Jenifer  16$ 

"  I  did."  Wooten  moved  his  head,  embarrassed, 
and  looked  at  everything  but  Jenifer's  eyes. 

"  How  long  ago  ? "  forgetting  that  Wooten  had 
already  told. 

"  'Bout  three  years." 

"  What  made  you  leave  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  Susan  —  You  see  I  couldn't  'gree  with 
her;  an*  so  I  got  Mehitabel  an'  —  an'  I  moved  up 
the  mountain." 

"  What  ?  "  Jenifer  was  open-mouthed  and  incred- 
ulous. 

"  'Twan't  no  use  tryin'  no  longer,"  Wooten  defended. 
"  I  jus'  couldn't  put  up  with  her  nohow.  She  was 
a-wearin'  me  out,"  he  vowed  in  sudden  heat  of  passion; 
"  an'  I  was  afraid  o'  her,  'fraid  o'  what  I  might  do  to 
her.  She  was  so  pizen  mean."  Jenifer  turned  sud- 
denly, his  cheek  white,  his  look  on  the  distant  peaks. 

"  I  jus'  was  bleeged  to  leave  her,"  the  passionate 
voice  drawled  on.  "  An'  I  couldn't  live  by  myself 
nohow." 

"  Didn't  you  know  —  "  began  Jenifer's  stifled  voice. 

"  Know  what?    I  knew  I  was  'bleeged  to  do  it." 

"  But  to  stand  up  and  preach !  " 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  Gawd-a-mighty !  is  thar  a  man 
in  this  Hollow  will  stan'  up  an'  tell  me  why  I  shouldn't  ?  " 
Wooten's  eyes  were  blazing,  his  clenched  fists  menacing. 
"  Didn't  I  take  care  o'  her  ?  Didn't  I  look  after  her 
after  I  lef  ?  Didn't  I  leave  her  everything,  house, 
garden,  everything,  an'  jus'  strike  out  for  myself? 
Didn't  everybody  know  I  took  care  o'  her  till  she  took 
up  with  another  man  ?  " 


166  Jenifer 

"  Where  is  she  now  ?  " 

"  She's  done  moved  across  the  mountain.*' 

"  And  the  other  ?  " 

"  Dead;  been  dead  a  month  or  so,"  Wooten  added 
softly. 

"  Is  that  all,  all  of  your  wives  ?  "  asked  Jenifer, 
intending  a  thrust. 

"  Thar's  one  mo',"  said  the  old  man  simply,  "  jus' 
one  mo'.  She's  livin'  down  thar,"  pointing  to  a  chim- 
ney showing  above  the  willows. 

"  Lord !  "  Jenifer  groaned,  afraid  to  laugh  or  scoff 
or  argue,  the  old  man,  his  flash  of  anger  past,  was  so 
serene  and  unquestioning  of  the  wisdom  or  right  of 
what  he  had  done:  "  She's  got  the  children  with  her," 
he  added  composedly,  "  all  I  ever  had.  Susan  an' 
Mehitabel  they  didn't  have  none.  Though  I've  heard 
tell  as  how  Susan  had  'em  now,  two  or  three  of  'em. 

"  You  see  — "  still  standing  straight,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  his  hat  on  his  eyes,  his  bewhiskered  chin 
thrust  forward,  his  blue  eyes  lazily  half  open,  "  I  started 
down  thar,"  with  a  nod  towards  the  cabin  below.  "  I 
was  jus'  growed  up  then,  an'  I  used  to  spree  considerable; 
yes,  sir,  pretty  considerable.  An'  Mary  she  got  tired 
of  it.  I  don't  blame  her,  not  a  mite.  I  sho  was  wuth- 
less.  An'  she  —  she  drove  me  out.  Said  she  was  tired 
o'  me  an'  my  cussedness !  "  A  dull  flash  was  on  the 
old  man's  lean  face  even  now  when  he  recalled  it. 
"  That's  what  she  said.  An'  I  lit  out.  Come  up  hyar; 
an'  after  awhile  I  set  up  with  Susan.  An'  she  —  1 
couldn't  stan'  Susan  nohow,  an'  I  jus'  put  out  again. 
Then  thar  was  Mehitabel,"  he  added  simply. 


Jenifer  167 

"  I  ain't  never  done  spreed  any  since  Mary  drove 
me  out,"  he  went  on.  "  An'  I  took  to  preachin'  an' 
standin'  up  against  it,  an'  against  everything  else  the 
devil  is  a-pushin'  along  —  "a  sudden  flare  of  the  zealot 
in  his  eyes  and  the  singsong  inflection  of  a  voice  used 
to  shouting  in  the  open. 

"  An'  —  "  Wooten  broke  off  and  came  back  to  his 
simpler  commonplaces.  "  Mary  was  thar  las'  night. 
She  come  to  hear  me  preach.  She  had  the  children 
with  her.  She'd  come,  yes;  but  she  don't  let  me  do  a 
thing  for  her  nor  them.  An'  they's  my  children,  all  I 
got.  She  don't  let  'em  set  foot  in  my  do';  an'  me  —  I 
ain't  crossed  hers  since  —  since  —  Thar  she  is  nowl  " 

Wooten's  calm  assertiveness  had  faded.  "  Mary," 
he  said  awkwardly,  as  a  woman  parted  the  willows 
and  came  out  in  the  little  clearing,  "Mary,  here's  a 
new-comer.  His  name's  same  as  mine  —  Wooten." 

The  woman  looked  at  Jenifer  searchingly.  She  was 
brown-eyed  and  large,  with  cheeks  that  had  been 
freckled  in  her  youth  and  hair  which  had  been  red. 
The  freckles  had  faded  and  the  soft  skin  was  wrinkled 
like  cream  which  has  stood  too  long  within  the  bowl. 
The  hair  was  like  burnished  copper. 

"  Coin'  to  stay  ?  "  the  woman  asked  suddenly. 

"  Yes."    Jenifer  smiled  at  the  calm  directness. 

"  Whar  ?  " 

"  Here."  Jenifer's  hand  was  upon  the  door  behind 
him. 


XVII 

"  SON,"  drawled  Wooten,  "  you're  mighty  well 
fixed,  'clare  to  goodness  if  you  ain't.  An'  you  didn't 
lose  no  time  about  it." 

Jenifer  laughed  at  the  old  man's  ready  appreciation. 
"  It  was  easy  enough,"  he  assured.  "  Everything  was 
here  all  right.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  clean  up." 

The  old  man,  with  his  curious  logic,  had  left  Susan's 
furniture  untouched,  or  "  the  heft  of  it,"  as  he  would 
have  said.  "  Well,  you  sho  done  it,"  he  said  slowly. 

The  vigorous  work  had  been  the  breath  of  life  to 
Jenifer,  who  longed  to  think  of  nothing,  to  remember 
nothing,  only  to  do;  and  morning  after  morning,  eve- 
ning after  evening,  Wooten  had  sauntered  through  the 
locusts  and  alders  and  willows  fringing  the  middle 
clearing  to  see  what  had  been  accomplished.  The  old 
man,  afflicted  with  mountain  laziness,  marvelled  at 
Jenifer's  energy. 

"  Well,  it  looks  good."  Wooten  sat  down  on  the  low 
step,  and  leaned  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  "  It  certainly 
does.  All  the  weeds  done  pulled  up,  an'  the  grass  so 
soft  an'  fine  it  sort  o'  makes  you  feel  good  an'  springy 
to  put  your  foot  on  it;  an*  the  roof  patched  up;  an* 
whitewash  inside  an*  out;  an'  smell!  I  always  did 
like  the  smell  o'  lime,  like  —  like  —  Ian',  I  don't 
1 68 


Jenifer  169 

know  what  'tis  like,  'less  'tis  the  smell  o'  woods  after  the 
rain's  been  beatin'  'em;  clean  an'  sort  o'  sweet,  you 
know." 

He  settled  back  contentedly.  Jenifer  was  in  the 
lean-to,  but  the  old  man  knew  that  the  younger  heard 
his  disjointed  sentences  and  listened  in  his  taciturn 
fashion.  The  preacher  himself  was  in  no  talking  humor, 
and  his  broken  sentences  had  been  but  a  braving  out 
of  his  mood.  He  had  been  sick  with  loneliness  up  in 
his  far  cabin,  and  now,  with  Jenifer  near,  settled  into 
contented  silence. 

Close  and  sheer,  nearer  than  to  his  own  house,  the 
mountain  rose  behind  the  hut,  the  thick  trees  and 
dense  bushes  making  a  wall  that  ran  dark  and  steep, 
afar  off;  but  near  was  a  shield  of  stealing  shadows  and 
sifting  lights,  filled  to  its  dim  distances  with  lisping 
sounds.  The  stream  brawled  loud  upon  its  rocks;  a 
locust  grew  near  the  door;  indian  pinks  flamed  in  the 
grass ;  a  willow  thicket  hid  the  path  that  dipped  down- 
ward. The  way  showed  that  it  had  been  trodden,  for 
the  grass  was  flat  upon  it,  the  ferns  crushed,  and  the 
branches  broken. 

"  Ever  see  Mary  ?  "  the  old  man  called  through  the 
door.  He  had  often  wondered,  but  never  before  had 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jenifer  laconically. 

Wooten  shifted  his  shoulder  against  the  door-frame. 
The  cleaning  inside  the  cabin,  the  scrubbing,  the  piling 
of  the  black  fireplace  with  green  pine  boughs  looked 
like  a  woman's  work,  like  hers;  yet  he  had  never  seen 
her  there. 


170  Jenifer 

Jenifer  whistled  as  he  went  about  the  lean-to.  He 
had  been  neither  desperate  nor  unhappy  since  that 
awakening  in  the  woods  when  the  thrill  of  expectancy 
had  shaken  him.  To  hide  himself  had  been  instinctive. 
The  beast  most  ignorant  and  lowest  in  the  scale  of  life 
knows  how  to  shield  itself  when  its  skin  is  first  cast; 
and  the  beating  of  the  flood  was  yet  too  near  for  Jenifer, 
the  beaten,  to  know  where  he  had  been  tossed,  or  what 
path  he  might  find.  He  but  drew  breath  and  strength. 
He  bided. 

Already  the  peaks  were  beautiful  to  him,  the  stream 
musical,  the  stars  friendly.  What  they  would  give  to 
him  he  would  learn  slowly  and  unconsciously;  now  it 
was  buoyancy,  a  stir,  not  of  hope,  but  of  hopefulness. 
"  Wooten,"  he  called  from  the  lean-to,  "  come  on. 
Supper  is  ready." 

"  Lan',  you  don't  say  so."  Wooten  moved  slowly. 
'  'Tain't  sundown  yet,"  throwing  back  his  head  to  look 
above  the  peaks. 

'''  'Tis  supper-time  anyhow :  come  on !  " 

"  Lan',"  cried  Wooten  again  at  the  lean-to  door. 
"  Lan'  o'  Goshen ! "  he  intensified  his  expression. 
"  This  looks  something  like.  Thought  you  said  you 
wa'n't  no  cook." 

"  I  am  not.      Sit  down.      Help  yourself." 

Wooten  reached  for  a  biscuit.  They  were  brown 
and  light,  and  cold.  He  opened  one,  spread  the  soft 
butter  on  it,  and  bit  into  it,  half  of  the  creamy  disc  at  a 
bite.  "Urn!"  he  munched.  "Urn!"  Suddenly  he 
pushed  back  his  plate  and  his  eyes  flashed  behind  his 
heavy  lids.  "  You  made  'em  ?  " 


Jenifer  171 

"  Didn't  say  I  did,"  answered  Jenifer  easily.  "  Have 
another  ?  "  pushing  the  plate  nearer  his  guest. 

"  I  know  who  did,"  the  old  man  flared. 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  Mary !  'Tain't  no  woman  on  the  mountain  can 
cook  like  that,  no  woman  but  Mary." 

Jenifer  was  eating  heartily.  The  hour  was  cool  and 
on  the  little  stove  in  the  lean-to  the  teakettle  bubbled, 
and  the  red  embers  shone  through  the  rusty  grate. 
"  She's  cooking  for  me,"  he  announced  calmly;  "doing 
most  of  it.  Sends  her  boy  up  with  it." 

"  Hm !  "  the  old  man  snorted. 

"  I  pay  her  for  it,"  said  Jenifer,  seeing  Wooten's 
angry  uneasiness.  "  And  she  needs  the  money,"  he 
added  mercilessly. 

Wooten  sat  silent,  his  plate  empty  before  him. 

"  Clothing  three  children  and  finding  enough  for 
them  to  eat  is  no  easy  job." 

"  I  always  wanted  to  help  her,  always ;  but  she  wouldn't 
take  a  thing.  I  bought  her  a  dress  last  Christmas. 
Mehitabel  helped  to  choose  it :  and  Mary  sent  it  back." 

Wooten  missed  the  flash  of  amusement  in  Jenifer's 
eyes.  He  was  looking  wistfully  at  the  biscuit.  "  Mary 
always  did  make  good  bread."  His  big  hand  stole 
towards  the  plate.  "  Susan  she  flung  'em  together  so 
as  they'd  scarcely  stick,  an'  the  lumps  inside  o'  them 
was  worse  than  a  feather  bed  when  it  ain't  been  beat; 
an'  Mehitabel  she  streaked  hers  up  so  with  soda  till 
they  made  your  tongue  feel  soft  in  your  mouth,  an'  the 
water  run  down  your  throat  same  like  'twas  soaped. 
But  Mary  —  "  The  old  man  piled  his  plate. 


172  Jenifer 

"An*  bile  a  ham!  She  can't  be  beat,"  he  added. 
Then,  as  he  ate,  "  This  honey  came  from  the  back  of 
the  garden  patch.  Yes,  sir;  I  know  the  taste.  I  put 
the  hives  there  myself.  Son,"  he  ended,  "  I  ain't  eat 
no  such  meal  since  —  since  the  Lord  knows  when,"  he 
caught  himself.  "  You're  mighty  fortunate,  mighty 
fortunate,"  he  declared  as  they  lighted  their  pipes 
before  the  door. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Jenifer  soberly. 

"  Son,"  after  a  long  pause,  and  taking  his  pipe  slowly 
from  his  lips,  "  son,  is  you  worth  much  ?  " 

"  Powder  and  shot,"  declared  Jenifer  with  sudden 
bitterness. 

"  Shucks !  What  you  gettin'  at  ?  You  know  what  I 
mean.  Have  you  got  much  money  ? "  he  insisted 
curiously. 

Jenifer  flushed  hotly.  "  I  have  some  —  some  that  I 
brought  with  me,"  he  stammered;  "and  not  a  cent 
more,"  he  added  sternly.  Jenifer's  instructions  to  the 
bank  had  been  as  explicit  as  those  to  Wheatham;  and 
he  had  cut  loose  from  both. 

"  I  shall  have  to  look  out  for  some  corn  for  my  horse," 
said  Jenifer  quickly,  breaking  the  awkwardness  of  the 
silence.  "  Grass  is  not  good  for  her  all  the  time.  Do 
you  know  where  I  can  get  some  ? " 

"  None  in  the  Hollow,  not  this  time  o'  year.  If 
anybody  has  got  enough  to  grind  an'  keep  him  goin' 
till  crops  come  in  he's  lucky.  None  to  part  with. 
Haven't  got  enough  myself.  Maybe  Mary  — "  he 
began  with  embarrassment. 

"  Hers  is  gone.      I  asked  her." 


Jenifer  173 

"  You  don't  say  ?  "  in  dismay.  "  That's  bad ;  mighty 
bad,"  he  repeated  after  awhile. 

"  You  say  there's  none  to  sell,"  Jenifer  insisted. 

"  Not  a  nubbin  in  the  Hollow.  Thar  might  be  some 
at  the  Park." 

"  The  Park  ?  "  Jenifer  had  not  heard  the  name  men- 
tioned before. 

"  Down  thar  at  the  mouth  o'  the  Hollow.  Didn't 
you  see  it  when  you  come  in  ?  " 

"  It  was  dark,"  answered  Jenifer  briefly. 

"  Lots  o'  trees,"  the  old  man  continued,  "  an*  an 
orchard  between  it  and  the  trail;  an'  the  house  sort  o' 
set  back." 

Jenifer  remembered.  "  I  know.  I  saw  it.  I  had 
forgotten." 

"  Well,  they  may  have  some  thar." 

"  I  shall  go  down  in  the  morning." 

"  Ain't  nobody  to  tend  to  nothin'  thar  but  the  ol* 
lady,  less  the  young  one  has  taken  holt.  She's  spry 
enough  for  anything,"  he  chuckled.  "  Man  named 
Morgan  was  workin'  the  place,  an'  he  up  an'  quit, 
right  after  he  had  put  in  the  crops;  put  off  for  some 
mills  or  other.  Jus'  lef ' !  An'  I  don't  know  what  they're 
goin'  to  do.  Ain't  got  nobody  yet,  far  as  I  know." 

Wooten  watched  Jenifer  shrewdly,  but  if  his  gossip 
embodied  any  hint  the  younger  man  had  not  taken  it. 

Jenifer  had  forgotten  what  he  heard  when  he  tramped 
the  rough  way  next  morning.  Lightfoot  was  left  whinny- 
ing behind  the  willows.  The  walk  suited  Jenifer  better. 
It  was  as  strange  to  him  as  if  he  never  put  foot  on  the 
trail.  Darkness  had  hidden  it,  and  he  had  not  cared 


174  Jenifer 

a  whit  concerning  it  when  he  had  climbed  it  in  the 
night,  but  now,  as  the  way  unwound,  glimpse  by  glimpse, 
he  saw  the  high-lying,  hill-broken  valleys,  and,  clouding 
into  the  sky,  the  peaks  beyond,  the  lower  mountains 
he  had  left. 

The  narrow  gorge  Jenifer  trod  was  like  an  inlet  that 
has  beaten  its  way  into  rough  lands,  and  spread  into  a 
fair  bay  at  their  feet.  The  bay  was  Briar  Park. 

Young  apple-trees  bent  above  him  as  Jenifer  turned 
aside.  Wide  and  clear  came  down  the  stream  that  sang 
by  his  own  house.  It  was  slumberous  in  the  morning, 
and  the  shadows  fell  heavily  upon  the  wide  porch  and 
through  the  empty  hall.  Jenifer  knocked,  and  had  no 
answer;  again,  to  hear  nothing. 

The  hall  was  wide,  but  not  long;  and  a  door  opened 
at  the  opposite  end.  Jenifer  crossed  to  it  lightly,  as 
if  half  afraid.  He  saw  to  the  right  a  sleeping  apart- 
ment; and  to  the  left  a  dismantled  and  darkened  room. 
The  door  which  he  gained  opened  on  an  angle  between 
the  main  house  and  the  wing;  and  the  steps  led  to  a 
rioting  garden.  Jenifer,  on  the  topmost  stair,  gazed 
with  sudden,  intent  interest. 

Whoever  planted  it  long  years  before  must  have  had 
in  memory  some  loved  garden  left  across  the  seas  and 
striven  to  ease  a  heartache  for  broad  downs  and  blue 
seas.  Roses  climbed  the  house  walls  and  running 
myrtle  crowded  to  the  mossy  bricks.  The  long  leaves 
of  violets  grew  thick  about  the  steps.  Beyond  the 
formal  path  syringa  bloomed,  and  the  "  shrub  "  was 
brown  with  blossoms,  and  the  jessamine  starred  its 
light  leaves  with  milk-white  clusters.  The  fragrant 


Jenifer  175 

yellow  trumpet  of  its  fellow  swung  by  its  side.  Beyond, 
thick  and  untrimmed  box  hedges  led  beneath  bending 
fruit-trees.  Farther  yet  was  what  Jenifer  thought  to 
be  a  vegetable  garden.  A  tangle  of  althea  and  lilac 
and  wild  plum-bush  was  back  of  all. 

The  sight  of  it  was  like  a  clutch  at  his  fought  for 
peace,  his  imposed  forgetfulness.  He  remembered  the 
old  garden  he  had  loved.  He  did  not  see  a  figure  that 
flitted  around  the  corner,  keeping  close  to  the  ivied 
and  rose-covered  wall;  and  the  light  flying  step  on  moss 
and  myrtle  was  unheard. 

"  Miss  Amblah !  Miss  Amblah !  "  called  a  high 
thin  voice. 

"  Gawd  !      What's  she  done  now  ?  " 

"  Miss  Amblah !  " 

Stooping  low,  the  girl  sped  from  bush  to  bush,  keep- 
ing hidden.  A  stifled  laugh,  a  cry  of  astonishment, 
and  Jenifer  looked  down  on  a  young  woman  holding 
apart  the  syringa  boughs  which  met  above  her  head. 

Her  hair  was  black,  and  loose  about  her  face;  her 
eyes  were  opened  wide  and,  at  that  moment,  they  were 
dark  as  Jenifer's;  her  cheek  curved  to  a  dimple  in  her 
chin.  Her  red  lips  parted  like  a  startled  child's;  and 
the  flowers  framed  her,  as  they  should. 

Jenifer,  silent,  his  eyes  and  mouth  stern  in  his  astonish- 
ment, gazed  down  at  her. 

"  Miss  Amblah  !  " 

His  breath  came  quick.    It  was  the  little  maid. 


XVIII 

THE  girl  dropped  the  branches  behind  her  and 
stepped  nearer.  "  Do  you  wish  to  see  my  aunt  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  sudden  touch  of  haughtiness. 

Jenifer  was  dumb.  For  him  the  spell  had  not  yet 
broken. 

"  Are  you  looking  for  my  aunt  ?  "  the  girl  demanded, 
a  flash  of  quick  anger  in  her  eyes. 

"I  —  I  suppose  so,"  Jenifer  stammered. 

"  She  will  be  here  directly.  You  had  best  wait  in 
the  hall." 

A  rose  thorn  had  caught  at  the  hem  of  her  white 
gown,  and  held  her.  She  pulled  at  it  impatiently. 

"  Wait,"  said  Jenifer,  coming  slowly  down  the  steps. 
"  Let  me  unfasten  it." 

"  It's  no  matter,"  she  cried,  twisting  her  head  im- 
patiently to  see  where  she  had  been  caught. 

Jenifer  kneeled  to  unfasten  it,  and  she  turned  a 
flushed  face,  where  vexation  half-hid  her  merriment, 
to  look  at  him.  The  red  rose,  whose  briar  had  clutched 
her  gown,  drifted  its  blossoms  between  his  face  and 
hers. 

"  Miss  Amblah,"  the  high  voice  called,  and  nearer. 
Jenifer  stumbled  to  his  feet. 

He  never  knew  how  he  followed  her  into  the  big 
176 


Jenifer  177 

room  which  was  sleeping-room  and  parlor  alike;  nor 
how,  grown  suddenly  hospitable,  the  girl  made  him  at 
home,  looked  to  his  comfort,  and  flitted  off. 

He  sat  dazed.  The  child  had  been  a  fairy  vision  of 
his  boyhood.  She  had  been  forgotten;  and  dimly 
recalled  but  to  be  broidered  with  fancies  and  again 
put  aside.  Jenifer  had  never  thought  of  seeing  her 
again,  and  she  was  found.  Her  swift  light  step  was  in 
the  hall. 

"  Aunt  Molly  will  be  here  in  a  moment ;  "  she  flashed 
the  stranger  a  shy  smile.  "  Here  she  is  now."  Ambler 
shrank  back  by  the  farther  window.  A  deep  and  wide 
mahogany  bureau  bulged  between  them. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  was  so  hard  to  find.  I  hope  I  have 
not  kept  you  waiting,"  Aunt  Molly  panted,  her  breath 
short  from  her  haste;  and  she  held  out  her  soft,  well- 
padded  hand  to  the  tall  and  earnest-eyed  young  man 
who  rose  to  meet  her.  Whoever  was  in  Aunt  Molly's 
house  was  instantly  a  guest,  and  it  needed  no  second 
glance  to  assure  her  that  this  man  was  a  gentleman. 
She  waved  him  to  his  chair,  and  sat  down  not  far  away. 
"  Getting  mighty  warm,"  she  ventured,  as  a  friendly 
beginning. 

"I  —  I  came  over  to  see  if  I  could  buy  some  corn," 
blurted  Jenifer,  never  wholly  at  ease  with  women  and 
now  doubly  awkward. 

"  To  buy  corn !  "  Aunt  Molly's  blue  eyes  were  wide. 

"  I  heard  you  might  have  some  to  sell,"  Jenifer 
blundered. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  coldly.  "  You  will  have 
to  ask  Joshua." 


178  Jenifer 

"  Aunt  Molly "  —  Ambler  stepped  out  into  the 
room  —  "  we  have  plenty,  I  know." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't,"  plaintively.  "  Ever  since 
that  wretched  man  went  off  —  " 

"  We  are  better  without  him,"  declared  the  girl 
sturdily. 

"  Then  I  don't  see  it.      But  Joshua  —  " 

"  We  have  plenty,"  said  Ambler,  looking  across  at 
Jenifer,  "  and  will  be  glad  to  sell." 

"  Leave  it  to  Joshua." 

Ambler  laughed.  "  He  can't  do  everything,  Aunt 
Molly." 

"  You'll  find  him  in  the  yard,  Mr.  —  Mr.  —  " 

"  Wooten,"  Jenifer  interjected. 

"  If  you  will  walk  out  in  the  yard,  Mr.  Wooten,  you 
will  find  the  man  there." 

Ambler  dimpled  suddenly.  She  remembered  her 
dispute  with  the  old  negro  and  her  flight. 

"  Amber,  will  you  go  with  him  ?  " 

Jenifer  started  at  the  contraction  of  the  name,  it  so 
exactly  fitted  her  quaintness.  He  knew  what  he  had 
first  thought  of  when  he  saw  her,  —  a  dim  and  narrow 
street,  a  jutting  window,  and  in  the  duskiness  of  it  old 
jewels  flashing,  with  polished  beads  in  the  midst  of 
them  glowing  like  molten  sunshine.  He  thought  of 
them  when  he  walked  by  her  side,  when  they  found 
the  suspicious-eyed  negro,  when  Joshua  turned  the 
key  in  the  corn-house  door,  while  they  bargained,  — 
Ambler  listening  gravely,  —  and  when  they  returned 
slowly  houseward. 

"  You  found  some  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Molly. 


Jenifer  179 

"  Of  course,"  assented  Ambler  easily. 

"  I  am  much  indebted  to  you,"  began  Jenifer 
formally. 

"  I  am  sure  that  if  you  could  find  some  one  to  look 
after  this  farm  we  would  be  more  indebted  to  you." 
Aunt  Molly  believed  in  an  open  display  of  her  vexa- 
tions. Some  one  who  understood  them  might  some- 
time lend  a  hand.  "  Do  you  know  of  any  one  ?  " 

A  sudden  flash  of  purpose  leaped  in  Jenifer's  eyes, 
but  Aunt  Molly  was  looking  away  from  him.  "  Where 
are  you  staying  ?  "  she  continued  placidly. 

"  Up  in  the  mountain." 

"  Oh,"  with  sudden  change  of  tone.  The  dwellers 
of  the  high  valleys  and  rolling  hills  have  only  contempt 
for  those  of  the  mountain  pockets;  and  they  of  the 
hollows,  only  hatred  for  the  people  of  the  valleys.  War, 
centuries  old,  is  between  them.  "  I  thought  you  were 
a  stranger,"  Aunt  Molly  added  coldly. 

"  I  am." 

"  Oh !  "  with  less  disdain  and  more  interest.  "  You 
don't  know  of  anybody  ?  "  turning  in  her  chair  the 
better  to  look  at  the  young  man  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  his  soft  hat  crumpled  in  his  hand. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jenifer  calmly,  "  I  think  I  do." 

Aunt  Molly  leaned  forward  in  delighted  surprise. 
"  Who  ? " 

"  Myself." 

"  You !  "  She  leaned  back  and  critically  surveyed 
his  height,  his  ease  of  carriage,  his  firm  mouth,  and 
the  gleam  of  amusement  in  his  eyes.  She  remembered 
her  instant  classification  of  him.  It  was  not  necessary 


180  Jenifer 

that  Morgan's  successor  should  be  a  gentleman.  "  Are 
you  a  farmer  ?  "  she  faltered. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  an  odd  smile  about  his  mouth. 
Ambler's  searching  gaze  was  on  him,  and  he  feared 
that  more  than  her  aunt's. 

"  You  think  you  could  undertake  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  At  once  ?  " 

Jenifer  assented.  Aunt  Molly  leaned  back  and 
pondered.  Suddenly  the  look  of  perplexity  fled  from 
her  face.  "  Providence  has  sent  you,"  she  vowed 
fervently.  "  I  wouldn't  dare  to  say  a  word.  You  will 
come  to-morrow  ?  " 

Jenifer  agreed. 

"  And  start  right  in  ?  The  Lord  certainly  brought 
you  here  this  day,"  she  declared  with  the  easy  con- 
fidence of  those  who  shoulder  their  own  lax  carelessness 
upon  an  ever  interfering  Providence.  "  Amber,  you 
and  Joshua  and  Mr.  —  Mr.  Wooten  —  odd  name ; 
some  people  up  in  the  mountain  have  it.  Any  kin  ?  " 
she  asked  keenly. 

"  I  did  not  know  of  them  before  I  came,"  answered 
Jenifer,  a  smile  twitching  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  Well,  you  can  talk  it  over.  Whatever  you  decide 
will  be  all  right.  Amber  knows  more  about  it  than  I 
do,"  which  was  the  truth.  The  Park  was  Ambler's, 
inherited  from  her  father,  Miss  Molly's  brother;  but 
the  aunt's  guardianship  had  lasted  so  long  and  the 
girl's  reliance  had  been  so  absolute  that,  even  with 
the  assertiveness  of  Ambler's  new  ideas,  the  rule  of 
affairs  was  as  much  in  Aunt  Molly's  hands  as  in  those 


Jenifer  181 

of  her  niece.  Now,  Miss  Molly  settled  back  comfort- 
ably. The  walk  in  the  yard  had  been  exertion  enough. 
The  air  was  cool  and  fresh  in  the  big  room,  and  the 
book  she  had  read  many  times  still  held  her  interest. 

Ambler  in  her  young  eagerness  questioned  Jenifer 
closely;  but  her  eyes  said  more  than  her  lips.  His 
mental  grasp  of  the  work  of  the  place  was  quick,  would 
he  do  more  than  follow  the  old  routine  ?  Had  he  any 
ideas  upon  the  subject  beyond  those  which  moved 
his  muscles  ?  He  was  capable  of  good  hard  labor  the 
young  woman  after  one  measuring  look  had  decided, 
but  of  what  else  ? 

Ambler's  theories  had  upset  Morgan  from  his  long 
tenure.  Morgan  could  raise  wheat  and  corn  and  hogs, 
and  have  plenty  one  year  and  scarcity  the  next,  accord- 
ing —  as  Aunt  Molly  also  would  have  put  it  —  to  the 
ways  of  Providence.  Ambler  wished  to  assist  that 
high  power  in  its  provisioning  and  so  they  had  dis- 
agreed. Morgan  was  "  tiahed  o'  farmin'  anyhow. 
Done  tromp  after  the  plow  long  enough  in  my  day. 
An'  de  chilluns  is  big  enough  to  go  in  de  mill  what's 
done  sot  up  nigh  town.  Me  an'  the  ol'  woman  goin' 
take  it  easy  fer  a  spell."  So  he  had  gone,  like  others, 
to  the  call  of  the  whistle  in  the  valley. 

Ambler  was  glad,  though  she  dare  not  say  it.  She 
felt  a  secret  uplift  towards  the  inspiration  that  Provi- 
dence might  fulfil  her  desires  as  well  as  the  wishes  of 
others.  She  was  distinctly  pleased  with  the  guise  that 
help  at  present  took,  but  she  was  also  puzzled. 

It  is  seldom  that  any  life,  at  any  time,  touches  another 
without  leaving  some  trail  of  memory  across  it.  With 


182  Jenifer 

Ambler  it  was  but  a  bewilderment  which  showed  in 
the  furrow  between  her  black  brows  and  in  the  quick 
flash  of  her  eyes;  and  both  vanished  while  Jenifer 
watched  and  divined  their  cause.  He  would  not  help 
her  solve  the  difficulty.  He  resolved  to  be  unknown, 
and  trusted  to  distance  and  remoteness  to  keep  him  so, 
though  he  feared  he  had  put  his  determination  in  jeopardy 
by  his  sudden  impulse. 

Joshua  hovered  near.  "  Miss  Amblah  done  had 
dem  apple-trees  sot  out,"  he  announced  when  they 
were  in  the  yard.  "  An'  she  'low  like  dey'll  bring  de 
gol'  itse'f." 

"  They  will,"  asserted  Ambler  calmly.  "  Pippins," 
she  exclaimed  succinctly,  with  a  wave  of  her  hands 
towards  the  new  orchard.  "  You  noticed  them  ?  " 

Jenifer  pretended  that  he  had  taken  close  observation. 

"  An'  she  done  had  dem  set  out  on  de  mountain; 
an'  peach-trees.  An*  de  lan's  fittin'  fer  nothin'  but 
rocks  and  briars,  same  like  what  give  de  name  to  de 
place." 

"  You  will  see  what  it  is  fit  for,"  declared  Ambler. 
"  You  just  wait  a  year  or  two  till  the  trees  begin  to 
bear."  The  girl  was  used  to  arguing  with  Joshua, 
teasing  him  and  flouting  him,  and  the  old  negro  adored 
her. 

"  That's  about  all."  Their  talk  of  the  trees  had 
come  at  the  end  of  her  explanations.  "  The  place  is 
small,  barely  a  hundred  acres  " — it  had  been  a  thou- 
sand —  "  and  there's  no  getting  much  out  of  it  unless  —  " 
But  Ambler  ended  with  a  sigh.  No  one  believed  in 
the  possibilities  of  her  plans,  not  even  Joshua.  It  was 


Jenifer  183 

too  soon  to  speak  of  them  to  Jenifer,  but  she  went  with 
him  across  the  yard  and  wanted  to  know  what  he  thought 
of  the  growing  trees.  The  straight  set  trunks,  the 
grass-free  land  were  as  she  had  made  Morgan  have 
them;  and  she  delighted  in  the  slim,  laden  branches. 
"  We  can  ship  this  year,"  she  told  Jenifer  jubilantly, 
looking  at  them  across  the  brown  clear  stream. 

A  log  bridged  the  brook,  and  a  great  walnut-tree 
shadowed  the  crossing.  Ambler  sat  down  on  a  root 
and  lifted  her  hat  from  her  dark  head,  sighing  impatiently 
as  she  pushed  up  her  dampened  hair.  Sometimes  she 
laughed  at  the  futility  of  her  efforts,  and  sometimes 
she  was  tired  of  it.  Now  she  was  tired.  Her  fancy 
had  leaped  too  strongly  towards  the  newcomer,  and 
reaction  had  already  begun. 

Jenifer  stood  near;  there  were  one  or  two  more 
questions  and  the  young  man  was  in  no  hurry. 

Foxglove  peered  into  the  brown  water,  and  mint  and 
ferns  and  mosses.  Mosses,  too,  were  about  the  tree. 
Jenifer  remembered  how  he  had  sought  them  in  the 
deep  wood.  So  the  baby  hair  had  curled  about  her 
forehead,  so  the  child's  lips  drooped  wistfully,  so  — 
She  looked  up  suddenly,  and  caught  his  glance.  The 
red  ran  up  her  cheek  and  a  furrow  down  her  forehead. 
She  began  questioning  him,  as  a  stranger  might,  and 
he  answered  guardedly. 

Ambler's  ear  was  quick.  She  knew  the  mountain 
drawl,  the  burr  of  her  countrymen,  the  nasal  tone  of 
the  Northern  newcomer,  and  the  accent  of  the  Eng- 
lishman. Jenifer's  voice  was  full  and  round,  and  of 
that  quality  to  which  she  was  most  accustomed.  Un- 


184  Jenifer 

consciously  Ambler  trusted  it.  Still  he  had  given  no 
clue  to  knowledge  of  the  country. 

"  It's  warm  to-day,"  said  Jenifer  inanely,  when  she 
fell  back  to  puzzled  silence,  "  and  tiresome,  walking 
about,"  with  a  glance  at  the  clinging  tendrils  of  her 
hair. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  seldom  get  tired.  The  air  is  pure 
and  invigorating  so  high  up,"  she  said  absently. 

"  Pretty  cold  in  winter,"  he  ventured  stupidly. 

Ambler  flashed  a  quick  look  up  at  him.  "  Cold !  " 
Instantly  she  was  the  merry-faced  girl  he  had  come 
upon  in  the  garden.  "  It's  beautiful !  You  should 
see  it.  All  the  mountains  dazzling,  the  valleys  white, 
the  peaks  there  shining,"  —  the  sweep  of  her  brown 
hand  traced  against  the  sky  the  range  of  the  hills  Jenifer 
had  left,  "  and  the  air  like  —  like  —  It  shames  it  to 
compare  it  with  anything.  And  sometimes,"  with  awed 
voice  and  wide  eyes  and  an  intent  leaning  forward, 
"  when  the  air  is  still  and  —  I  don't  know  what  makes 
it,  nor  why  it  comes,  nor  when  it  will  be  heard;  but 
sometimes,  when  it's  still  and  clear,  the  Voice  sounds 
over  the  mountains.  Have  you  ever  heard  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  Jenifer  was  forced  to  admit. 

"  You  will.  You  will,"  she  reiterated  as  she  sprang 
to  her  feet.  "  And  when  you  do  tell  me  what  it  says, 
what  it  is  singing  about.  I  never  know.  I  have  listened 
and  listened,  but  —  "  she  shook  her  head. 

"  I  shall  listen  and  tell  you."  Jenifer  spoke  quickly. 
His  tone  was  warm,  his  eyes  friendly,  warmer  and 
friendlier  than  he  knew,  and  out  of  keeping  with  their 
acquaintanceship  and  its  basis.  Ambler  was  instantly 


Jenifer  185 

on  the  defensive,  though  her  own  impulsiveness  had 
caused  it. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Wooten,  we  will  look  for  you  in  the 
morning,"  she  called  over  her  shoulder,  as  she  turned 
towards  the  house. 

Jenifer  crossed  the  log  bridge,  but  stood  amongst 
the  apple-trees  to  watch  her,  his  fingers  twisting  a 
switch  he  had  broken.  Very  small  she  was  and  light 
of  motion,  walking  up  beneath  the  oaks.  She  half- 
turned,  he  slipped  further  back,  and  when  he  looked 
again  there  was  but  the  flicker  of  her  white  dress 
through  the  door. 

Jenifer's  thoughts,  as  he  tramped  up  the  trail,  were 
at  first  only  of  her,  of  the  wonder  of  finding  her,  and 
his  instant  resolve  to  help  her.  He  had  seen  the  trace 
of  poverty,  the  rotting  fences,  the  sagging  gates,  the 
half-tilled  land;  and  he  had  seen  the  girl's  perplexity 
and  guessed  how  she  had  been  hampered.  His  impulse 
to  aid  her  had  been  quick  and  strong,  and  with  it  was 
mingled  some  romantic  idea  of  repaying  her  for  the 
brightest  joy  his  boyhood  had  known. 

But  as  the  way  grew  steep  he  began  to  remember 
the  preacher,  and  to  laugh  to  himself  as  he  wondered 
what  the  old  man  would  say.  Perhaps  they  would 
meet  somewhere  along  the  way,  and  Jenifer's  gaze 
searched  the  narrow  climbing  paths  for  Wooten,  but 
he  could  see  little  of  them,  only  where  they  wound  here 
and  there.  He  hurried  on. 

"  Ye-o  —  ho-e  —  ho !  "    A  cry  rang  up  the  Hollow. 

Jenifer  turned.  He  could  see  no  one,  but  he  sent 
the  mountain  call  ringing  up  the  gorge,  and  waited. 


i86  Jenifer 

It  was  repeated  and  a  call :  "  Hoi'  on !  "  Jenifer  sat 
down  on  a  moss-grown  stone,  waitingtill  the  steps  crashing 
down  the  path  should  bring  the  old  man  to  his  side. 

"  Well  ?  "  Wooten  questioned  as  soon  as  he  reached 
Jenifer.  Jenifer  looked  up  with  quizzical  glance. 

"  Fin'  some  corn  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Hm !  "  The  old  man  stood  straight,  his  hands  on 
his  hips,  and  peered  down  into  Jenifer's  face.  "  Some- 
thin'  else,  too ;  what's  it  ?  " 

Jenifer's  only  answer  was  his  teasing  laugh. 

"  You  —  you're  goin'  to  take  Morgan's  place  ?  " 
quickly  and  decisively. 

"  Yes."  Jenifer  got  to  his  feet.  "  Yes,"  he  repeated 
soberly,  "  I've  found  some  work  to  do." 

"  Seems  to  me  like  you  had  a  plenty  befo'.  What's 
the  use  of  everlastin'  lookin'  about  for  something  to 
do  ?  "  Wooten  asked  fretfully,  though  the  thought  had 
first  been  his  own. 

"  The  good  Lord  gives  us  plenty  o'  time  to  look 
'round  an'  see  what  He  done  made  for  us;  but  Ian'  ! 
we're  so  'tarnal  busy  tryin'  to  rival  Him  in  workin' 
ourselves,  we  get  no  chance  to  see  it." 

Jenifer's  smile  showed  his  understanding  of  the  old 
man's  plaint.  With  his  laziness  Wooten  was  yet  thrifty. 
He  was  everything  in  spells.  He  was  "  hefty,"  — 
according  to  mountain  phrase,  —  and  fiery;  and 
without  thinking  of  it,  he  ruled  the  Hollow. 

He  was  silent  as  he  tramped  by  Jenifer's  side,  and 
when  the  young  man  turned  off  the  trail  Wooten  was 
still  with  him. 


Jenifer  187 

They  sprang  from  stone  to  stone,  crossing  the  smaller 
stream,  and  stood  in  the  little  clearing.  The  indian 
pinks  flamed  at  their  feet. 

"  See  the  young  one,  that  young  woman  thar  ?  " 
Wooten  demanded  suddenly. 

Jenifer  nodded.  His  eyes  were  gleaming  with  amuse- 
ment. 

"  Gosh !  but  she's  a  sight,"  vowed  the  mountaineer. 
"  An'  as  sassy  as  a  mockin'-bird  ever  since  the  day 
she  was  born.  I  know  her.  I've  kept  my  eye  on  her. 
An'  nothin'  'minds  me  o'  her  but  these,"  stooping  his 
height  to  the  crimson  flowers  and  plucking  a  handful. 
"  Yes,  sir,"  looking  at  the  pinks  in  his  big  fist,  "  when 
I  see  'em,  I  think  o'  her;  an'  when  I  see  her,  I  think 
o'  them,"  admitted  this  old  lover  of  women. 


XIX 

WHEN  the  sun  swung  above  the  far  mountains  and 
stole  across  the  high  valleys  and  into  the  hollows  of 
the  misty  peaks  towering  behind  The  Park,  Ambler 
stood  on  the  porch. 

She  had  recalled  a  hundred  hints  and  directions 
that  she  must  give  to  Jenifer,  and  the  thought  of  them 
had  kept  her  restless  at  night  and  wakened  her  with 
dawn.  She  feared  Jenifer's  industry  would  bring  him 
down  the  Hollow  before  she  was  ready  to  see  him,  but 
the  young  man  showed  evidence  of  no  such  haste. 
Ambler  ate  her  own  light  breakfast,  came  out  to  the 
bridge  which  he  must  pass.  Still  there  was  nothing 
but  murmuring  stream  and  golden  sunlight,  sifting 
through  the  walnut  leaves;  and  across  the  wet  grass 
the  long  shadows  of  the  oaks. 

After  awhile  the  girl  forgot  that  she  was  waiting, 
for  the  water  sang  softly  on  its  way,  the  whisper  of 
the  leaves  was  low,  and  the  air  fresh  upon  her  face. 
She  sat  down  on  the  end  of  the  old  log  bridge  and 
leaned  with  drooping  head  and  dreamy  face  to  watch 
the  sunlit,  rippling  shallows  and  brown  clear  pools. 

Jenifer,  skirting  the  orchard  on  Lightfoot,  reined 
the  horse,  and  waited  for  a  breathless  moment  watch- 
ing her;  then  Lightfoot  splashed  through  the  stream. 
Ambler  was  in  a  second  afoot. 


Jenifer  189 

She  stood  with  wide,  delighted  eyes  and  flushed 
cheek,  as  Jenifer  rode  up  to  her;  but  Jenifer  knew 
that  every  glance  was  for  the  horse.  The  rider  was 
unnoticed. 

"  Oh ! "  she  said  softly,  as  Jenifer  sprang  from 
Lightfoot's  back.  "  What  a  beauty !  "  It  was  char- 
acteristic of  Ambler  to  forget  in  her  admiration  of 
the  horse  the  reason  for  her  waiting;  and  her  eyes 
followed  every  line  of  slender  curving  flank  and  tapering 
legs  and  graceful  head.  "  You  darling,"  she  breathed 
ecstatically.  "  What's  her  name  ?  " 

Jenifer,  by  the  horse's  head,  his  hat  hiding  his  amused 
eyes,  told  her. 

"  I  must,"  she  cried,  coming  close  enough  to  touch 
her.  "  She  isn't  unfriendly  ?  "  and  she  put  her  hand 
on  Lightfoot's  muzzle,  watching  the  pricked  forward 
ears  and  tense  muscles,  as  the  horse  stood  ready  to 
shy  if  the  touch  were  not  to  her  liking.  "  There's  no 
such  horse  on  this  place,"  she  exclaimed,  half  resentful 
that  it  should  be  true. 

For  a  second  Jenifer  accused  himself  of  foolhardiness 
in  riding  Lightfoot  to  The  Park.  But  the  trail  was 
long,  and  plowing  was  to  be  the  labor  of  the  day;  and 
he  was  unused  to  such  continuous  work.  Nor  had  he 
thought  that  his  horse  might  attract  attention  from 
either  the  women  of  the  house  or  the  old  negro.  Not 
knowing  what  to  say  to  Ambler's  rapturous  apprecia- 
tion, he  stood  with  startled  pleasure  listening  to  it. 

"  Does  she  hunt  ?  "    the  girl  asked  suddenly. 

"  I  have  never  tried  her." 

"  Can  she  jump  ?      She  looks  it." 


190  Jenifer 

"  Certainly." 

Ambler  whirled  about,  her  gaze  searching  the  yard. 
A  brooklet  trickled  at  the  far  side  of  the  lawn  to  join 
the  stream.  It  was  the  only  boundary  between  yard 
and  field  and  it  had  worn  a  deep  and  wide  bed  for  its 
tortuous  way.  "  Try  her  at  that,"  the  girl  instantly 
commanded. 

In  a  second  Jenifer  had  swung  himself  into  the  saddle. 
Lightfoot  skimmed  across  the  yard,  leaped  clean  and 
clear,  and  circled  in  the  field. 

Her  rider  pulled  her  up  at  Ambler's  side.  "  Has  a 
woman  ever  ridden  her  ?  "  asked  the  girl  wistfully. 

"  No."  Jenifer  was  delighted  with  the  unexpected 
moment. 

"  I  wonder  —  "  Ambler  left  her  sentence  unfinished 
and  eyed  the  horse  critically.  "  I  don't  believe  she 
would  mind." 

"  Should  you  like  to  try  ?  "  asked  Jenifer  quickly. 
"  Have  you  a  saddle  ?  " 

"Of  course;  but  this  will  do."  A  handful  of  flat 
leather  was  on  Lightfoot's  back.  "  If  I  could  ride  her 
at  all,  I  could  ride  her  on  that."  Before  Jenifer  could 
come  around  where  the  girl  stood,  Ambler's  hands 
were  on  the  saddle,  she  had  sprung  up  to  it,  gathered 
the  loose  reins  in  her  firm  hands,  and,  her  slim  body 
bent  forward,  was  urging  the  horse  to  a  run. 

Lightfoot,  sidling  from  the  flapping  of  skirts  upon 
her  flanks,  cavorted  across  the  yard.  "  Take  care !  " 
Jenifer  shouted,  racing  to  overtake  them. 

For  answer  Ambler  brought  the  horse  in  a  lope 
curving  around  him,  settled  Lightfoot's  paces  to  a  run, 


Jenifer  191 

and  sped  for  the  leap.  It  was  straight  and  glorious, 
but  the  horse  was  fretted,  her  blood  afire;  and  she  ran 
wild.  Before  Ambler  could  regain  control  of  her  the 
horse  swept  under  a  low  tree,  —  and  Ambler  lay  in 
the  grass  beneath  it. 

"  God !  "  Jenifer  panted,  as  he  ran.  He  feared  to 
reach  her,  feared  what  he  would  find.  She  lay  still, 
her  arm  crumpled  under  her  head,  one  hand  outflung, 
as  she  had  fallen.  His  voice  choked  as  he  tried  to 
speak,  his  hand  shook  as  he  slid  it  beneath  her  shoulder, 
but  at  his  touch  the  girl's  eyes  flew  open.  She  lay  for 
a  moment  looking  dreamily  up  at  him,  and  then  beyond ; 
and  she  saw  the  circling  horse. 

Ambler  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  She  threw  me,"  she 
gasped.  "  She  threw  me." 

"  You  are  hurt." 

"  No.  No;  had  the  breath  knocked  out  of  me.  I 
am  not  hurt,"  she  said,  impatient  at  Jenifer's  anxiety, 
as  she  leaned  weakly  against  the  tree.  "  But  that  horse, 
bring  her  here.  Catch  her,  I  say,"  and,  at  Jenifer's 
dumb  surprise,  she  reiterated  "  Bring  her  here." 

Jenifer,  doubtful  what  that  flashing  anger  in  the 
girl's  eyes  presaged,  came  back  to  her  with  Lightfoot 
tugging  at  the  rein  he  held. 

"  You  bad  thing !  You  wicked  horse !  "  Ambler 
scolded,  like  an  angry  child.  "  What  made  you  do  it  ?  " 
Then  in  a  second  her  arms  were  about  Lightfoot's 
neck,  her  cheek  against  the  horse's  head,  and  Lightfoot 
stood  still  and  quiet.  Ambler  looked  up  at  Jenifer,  and 
laughed  at  the  fright,  perplexity,  and  astonishment 
written  on  his  face. 


192  Jenifer 

The  girl's  hand  stole  to  the  bridle  loop;  and,  as 
Jenifer  still  watched  her  with  apprehension,  like  a  flash 
she  was  on  Lightfoot's  back,  and  both  were  gone. 

Jenifer,  racing  to  the  stable  in  search  of  a  horse  with 
which  to  make  hopeless  pursuit,  ran  into  Joshua. 

"  What's  de  mattah  now  ?  "  the  old  man  exclaimed. 

Jenifer  gasped  his  errand. 

"  Go  'long,"  Joshua  called  after  him.  "  Don't  you 
worry  yo'se'f.  Ain't  nothin'  gwine  huht  Miss  Amblah. 
De  onlies'  hoss  up  from  de  pastu',"  he  added  when  he 
caught  up  with  Jenifer,  "  wouldn't  cotch  up  wid  Miss 
Amblah  ef  she  was  afoot.  Don't  you  min'  her  tricks. 
You  go  'long  'bout  yo'  work." 

Jenifer  could  take  no  such  cold-blooded  advice  and 
he  was  half- mad  with  anxiety  when  Ambler  came 
riding  Lightfoot  serenely  to  the  stable  gate. 

"  I  had  to  take  it  out  of  her,"  the  girl  excused  her 
deed,  "  and  there  is  a  good  piece  of  ground  down  the 
road,  and  —  and  —  She  had  thrown  me,  you  see,  and 
was  afraid  of  me ;  and  we  could  never  have  been  friends. 
Now  —  "  she  leaned  to  stroke  the  horse  caressingly. 

Joshua  was  back  in  the  stable  yard,  but  lifted 
never  a  scornful  eyelid. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Jenifer  simply.  "  The  horse 
will  be  here  in  the  stable  every  day.  I  hope  you  will 
ride  her  often.  It  will  be  good  —  " 

"  For  both."  Ambler's  laugh  bubbled  out  merrily. 
"  I  shall  attend  to  her  to-day.  Don't  wait,"  seeing  the 
plow,  and  knowing  what  had  kept  Jenifer. 

"  Humph !  "  snorted  Joshua,  bending  above  his 
pitchfork. 


Jenifer  193 

Ambler  stood  radiant  but  doubtful.  The  old  negro's 
disdain  was  making  itself  felt,  like  a  breath  of  raw 
wind  on  the  warm  air  or  a  shadow  across  the  sunny 
space. 

"  She  shall  have  all  she  wants  to  eat  and  the  best 
stall  in  the  stable,"  the  girl  was  assuring  herself  gaily, 
as  Lightfoot  followed  her  to  the  door,  and  this  time 
Ambler  was  too  near  for  Joshua  to  grunt  an  expression  of 
his  anger.  The  stiffness  of  his  lean  body,  and  the 
tension  of  his  wrinkled  face  must  show  his  feelings  as 
she  passed,  but  he  could  not  long  restrain  himself. 

"  Miss  Amblah,"  he  called  fretfully.  "  Miss  Amblah ! 
Gawd's  sake,  ain't  you  done  fussin'  'bout  dat  hoss  yit. 
Dar  ain't  a  aig  in  de  house,"  he  complained. 

"  Have  you  looked  for  them  ?  Couldn't  you  find 
any  this  morning  ?  " 

"  What  time  I  got  fer  sech  things  ?  "  Joshua  knew 
where  three  lay  in  the  manger  and  where  six  were 
hidden  in  the  loft,  and  he  knew  too  how  Ambler  de- 
lighted to  find  them;  he  had  left  them  untouched. 

"  Dyar's  yo'  basket,"  he  said  grumpily.  "  I  done 
brought  it  down  fer  you.  Ef  I'd  'a'  known  you  was 
cuttin'  up  so  scan'lous  —  " 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  Joshua,  hush !  I  just  did  it  for  fun. 
And  she  goes  like  the  wind."  The  girl  shut  her  eyes 
tight  for  a  second  of  ecstatic  remembrance. 

Joshua  rolled  his  eyes  to  look  at  her,  and  was  silent. 

"  Where's  the  basket  ?  "  Ambler  picked  it  up,  and 
went  searching  from  stall  to  stall.  Her  cry  and  count 
told  when  each  egg  was  found;  and  her  eyes  were 
keener  than  Joshua's. 


194  Jenifer 

"  A  dozen,"  she  called  joyously,  before  she  ran  up 
the  steep  stair  to  the  loft.  "  A  dozen  and  a  half,"  she 
cried  when  she  came  down.  "  Six  for  the  house,  and 
twelve  to  sell.  How  much  are  they  bringing  now  ?  " 

"  Ten  cents  de  las'  time  I  was  at  de  sto'." 

"  Well,  they  won't  get  them !  "  she  exclaimed  in  hot 
indignation.  "  No,  sir;  not  a  one.  I  will  —  I  will  put 
them  in  a  cake  first.  I  will  make  one  to-day,  right  now, 
while  it  is  cool.  Joshua,  come  and  make  me  a  fire  in 
the  kitchen,"  she  begged  in  growing  enthusiasm. 

"  Who  ?  me  ?  "  Joshua's  eyes  were  wide  in  pre- 
tence of  intense  surprise. 

"Yes,  you;  come  on,"  Ambler  coaxed. 

"  Law's-a-mussy !  What  is  you  thinkin'  of?  An'  I 
got  de  rheumatiz  fit  to  kill;  an'  ebery  time  I  ben's  my 
back  I  git  a  crick  in  it." 

"  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  cake  first  thing."  The 
bait  had  no  effect.  "  A  big  piece."  Joshua  had  not 
yet  straightened  up.  "  I'll  bake  you  one  in  a  saucer,  all 
for  yourself."  The  darkey  slowly  unbended.  "  There's 
nothing  in  this  world  as  good  for  rheumatism  and  — 
and  '  cricks  '  as  cake.  You  know  it."  Ambler  clinched 
the  bargain  with  dancing  eyes. 

"  Go  'long,  Miss  Amblah,  go  'long.  I'll  hab  dat  stove 
a-roarin'  befo'  you  beats  de  aigs." 

Joshua  had  not  looked  for  one  result  of  the  cake- 
making.  Ambler  insisted  that  a  generous  share  should 
be  sent  to  Jenifer  when  he  "  took  out  "  at  noon.  She 
had  ridden  his  horse;  he  should  share  her  treat:  and 
she  bade  Joshua  carry  it,  which  he  did  —  as  far  as 
the  barn,  where  he  found  a  cool  place  in  the  carriage- 


Jenifer  195 

shed,  sat  down,  put  his  back  comfortably  against  the 
boards,  and  ate  the  sweet  stuff  to  the  last  rich  crumb. 

Ambler  wondered  for  a  day  or  two  why  Jenifer  had 
not  thanked  her,  and  then  she  forgot  it.  She  was  find- 
ing out  that  Jenifer's  ideas  coincided  with  her  own. 
He  was  a  theorist  too  and  he  added  to  theory  practical 
knowledge  and  clear  common  sense,  of  which  qualities 
she  lacked  at  least  one. 

Jenifer  was  in  charge,  but  there  were  instructions 
and  warnings  which  Ambler  must  constantly  give. 
"  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  we  arrange  with  Mr.  Mason  for 
his  threshing  machine  in  harvest.  He  will  be  here  by 
the  middle  of  July." 

Or  she  would  ask  about  visionary  crops.  Was  it  too 
late  to  plant  harvest  peas  in  the  corn-rows  ?  Was  the 
grass  in  the  meadow  not  thick  enough  to  cut  for  hay  ? 
And  there  were  many  projects  of  the  young  woman 
who  seemed,  unfortunately,  to  gather  to  her  slim  self 
the  energy  of  generations. 

Jenifer  had  given  to  his  own  loved  acres  not  half 
the  interest  he  gave  to  these.  Those  had  been  to  him  an 
enthusiasm  and  had  served  as  testing-ground  for  his 
observations  in  other  lands.  These  he  worked  upon 
with  no  capital  but  his  brains  and  no  labor  but  that  of 
his  own  hands,  and  he  pitted  himself  against  the  earth 
to  conquer  it. 

At  first  he  was  unequal  to  the  task,  but  day  by  day 
his  muscles  hardened  and  his  strength  grew;  and  he 
could  have  never  failed  beneath  the  eyes  that  watched 
him.  He  thought  that  he  worked  in  grim  determina- 
tion, because  idleness  and  memory  were  intolerable, 


196  Jenifer 

and  because  of  the  hidden  remembrance  of  long  ago, 
childish  friendliness.  So  he  did  —  at  first. 

Jenifer's  dawning  ideal  of  what  life  should  be  had 
been  born  from  the  spirit  of  mouldy  pages.  The  in- 
structions of  his  boyhood  had  impressed  upon  him  two 
laudable  purposes,  —  to  gain  an  education  and  to 
make  a  living.  He  had  learned  the  early  lesson,  crowned 
it  with  success,  and  had  begun  to  see,  in  those  winter 
days  at  the  Old  Place,  that  he  had  failed  in  his  blind 
content  and  in  his  withholding  from  his  fellows. 

Now  to  find  that  he  had  shrined  an  ideal  in  the  inner- 
most of  his  strong  nature  by  seeing  one  who  might 
have  fitted  to  it,  and  by  hearing  a  woman's  laugh  which 
might  have  been  its  music!  Now,  when  the  way  was 
shut !  To  see  how  clearly  matched  their  thoughts  1 
To  frame  amusedly  to  himself  their  differences,  — 
his  silences,  her  gay  speech;  his  unchangeableness  of 
purpose,  her  wilfulness!  And  beyond  and  beneath 
was  a  world  of  dreams  and  fancies  and  thought  for 
which  the  man  had  as  yet  no  name. 

There  was  nothing  to  forbid  Jenifer's  friendliness 
with  Ambler.  Miss  Molly,  with  her  placid  indolence, 
looked  no  further  than  her  door,  her  few  wants,  a 
neighbor's  visits,  and  her  church;  and  Joshua,  with 
his  thunders  of  growlings  and  his  lightnings  of  sarcastic 
speech,  made  no  interference. 

Truth,  the  old  negro  had  "  leP  Miss  Amblah  to 
herse'f."  There  had  been  a  joyous  day  when  he  had 
declared  that  "  Miss  Amblah  gwine  do  sumpin  fer  de 
fam'ly  sho,"  that  something  meaning  a  fortunate  mar- 
riage; and  he  had  counted  upon  his  stubby  fingers 


Jenifer  197 

those  whom  he  thought  worthy  the  gate  of  Briar  Park. 
He  had  watched  the  slip  of  a  girl  round  to  childish 
womanhood;  and  he  had  seen  all  those  he  named  find 
their  way  to  the  mountain's  foot  —  and  back  again. 
Ambler  had  laughed  at  their  love-making,  and  that 
no  man  will  endure :  flauntings  and  scornings  he  may 
brave,  even  beratings,  but  when  the  woman  laughs,  the 
man  is  gone. 

Joshua  had  striven  to  teach  her  wisdom  in  vain, 
and,  having  failed,  he  "  done  give  her  up." 

Still,  even  if  he  had  thought  of  it,  the  old  negro  could 
have  found  no  fault  with  Ambler's  intercourse  with 
Jenifer.  She  crossed  the  young  man's  way  not  half 
so  often  as  she  had  Morgan's;  and  when  she  met 
Jenifer  and  stopped  for  speech  with  him,  Joshua  could 
have  heard  nothing  beyond  the  business  of  the  place. 

Jenifer,  however,  did  not  know  how  keenly  he  had 
grown  to  watch  for  her;  how  black  was  the  door  when 
no  gleam  of  her  dress  lightened  it;  how  empty  the 
yard  when,  with  Lightfoot  at  his  shoulder,  he  crossed 
it  in  the  evening,  and  she  was  nowhere  near;  nor 
how  desolate  the  trail  up  the  gorge  when  he  had  caught 
no  glimpse  of  her. 

There,  perhaps,  Wooten  would  be  waiting  by  the 
way.  Jenifer  would  slip  from  his  saddle,  and  the  sturdy 
old  man  would  trudge  by  his  side.  Sometimes  there 
would  not  be  a  word  between  them.  The  stars  came 
out  above  the  peaks,  and  the  night  wind  stole  with 
sighs  and  whispers  through  the  hollow;  and  the  brawling 
of  the  brook  was  louder  as  they  climbed. 

Often  Wooten  had  a  tale  of  sickness  to  tell,  fever 


198  Jenifer 

in  the  cabin  on  the  highest  peak,  an  unknown  ailment 
in  the  hut  the  path  wound  from  the  trail  to  reach.  They 
were  to  Wooten  as  his  own.  Jenifer  listened  thoughtfully. 

"  Who's  taking  care  of  the  family  ?  "  he  might  ask, 
putting  his  finger  on  a  vital  point. 

"  Hm !  "  would  be  the  old  man's  only  answer. 

"  Have  they  got  any  meal  ?  " 

"  'Bout  a  pint." 

"Flour?" 

"  'Bout  a  sifter  full." 

"  Coffee  ?  " 

"  Ain't  heard  the  grinder  in  that  house  for  a  week." 

"  Take  Lightfoot  to-morrow  and  go  down  to  the  store. 
Yes ;  I  can  walk.  You  know  what  they  need."  Jeni- 
fer's scant  store  of  money  could  still  spare  enough  for 
the  bill  the  old  man  was  thankful  to  feel  in  his  hard 
palm. 

Often  Wooten  followed  Jenifer  to  his  cabin.  It  was 
spotless,  and  the  cool  cleanliness  soothed  the  old  man's 
wistful  homesickness;  and  Jenifer,  with  his  calm  good- 
nature, his  quick  friendliness,  and  the  bond  of  sturdy 
primitiveness  between  them,  eased  his  loneliness. 

When  the  stars  filled  the  space  of  heaven  stretched 
above  the  peaks,  when  the  fireflies  twinkled  in  the 
thick  grass,  and  the  tobacco  was  red  in  the  men's  pipes, 
Wooten  was  fairly  content.  He  had  not  preached  for 
months,  the  wild  mood  not  moving  him.  Something 
in  Jenifer's  calmness  and  strength,  and  the  odd,  but 
close,  intimacy  between  them  held  the  preacher's  strain 
of  vehemence  in  abeyance.  Something  too.  in  the 
singing  of  the  brook  and  the  sound  of  the  wind  of  the 


Jenifer  199 

summer's    night    upon    the    mountain.      "  Son,"    said 
Wooten  slowly, "  this  is  mighty  good." 

And  Jenifer,  at  full  length  in  the  dry  grass,  his  pipe 
smoked  out,  his  hands  beneath  his  head,  his  gaze  on 
the  moon  that  climbed  the  peak,  to  fill  the  Hollow  with 
shifting  silvery  lights,  echoed  him.  It  was  "  mighty 
good." 


XX 

"  OH,  dear !  "  cried  Ambler  impatiently,  "  I  can 
do  nothing  with  it.  First  it  catches  my  dress  and  then 
my  hair.  I  might  as  well  try  to  fasten  myself  against 
the  wall  as  this;  it  would  be  easier.  Joshua,  catch  it. 
There  it  comes ;  look  out !  " 

Joshua  ducked  the  long  branch  which  had  escaped 
her,  and  stood  looking  up  at  "  Miss  Amblah  "  swaying 
on  an  uncertain  ladder  that  was  propped  against  the 
wall  of  "  the  wing."  A  storm  had  beaten  down  the 
rose-vine.  Verbena  and  phlox  bent  heavy  heads.  The 
paths  were  rutty  from  the  rain ;  and  a  wren  was  singing 
in  the  pear-tree. 

"  'Clare,  Miss  Amblah,"  the  old  darkey  grumbled, 
"  I  don't  see  what  you  want  to  bother  'bout  the  ol' 
thing  fer  nohow;  'tain't  wuth  it." 

"  Yes,  it  is.  Hold  it  up,  higher;  towards  me.  Dear 
me,"  she  fretted,  "  if  it  grew  anywhere  else  but  by  the 
dining-room  window  I'd  leave  it  alone.  It  could  stay 
where  it  is.  But  if  I  did  "  —  she  was  leaning  from 
the  shaky  ladder.  One  hand  clutched  an  upper  rung, 
and  the  other  reached  for  the  thorny  arm  —  "  if  I  did, 
I'd  never  have  another  rose  to  peep  in  the  window  while 
I  ate  my  breakfast.  I  couldn't  miss  that.  Patience, 
it's  gone  again !  " 

200 


Jenifer  201 

"  Laws-a-mussy !  why  didn't  you  leave  the  old  thing 
alone  ?  "  A  thorn  had  caught  in  Joshua's  whitened 
wool;  when  he  reached  up  to  disentangle  it  another 
scratched  his  wrinkled  cheek.  He  had  been  mad  before, 
now  he  blazed.  "  What  you  look  lak  anyhow,  perched 
up  dyar  same  lak  a  sparrer  ?  Laugh,  laugh;  you'd 
laugh  if  you  was  a-dyin'.  La,  Miss  Amblah,"  in  sudden 
contrition,  "  come  'long  down !  You's  too  big  to  be 
triflin'  wid  sech  things." 

"  If  I  were  just  a  little  bigger,  it  would  have  been 
done  long  ago,"  vowed  the  girl  saucily,  her  eyes  wet 
from  laughter. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  fix  it  for  you."  Jenifer's  tone  was 
grave,  his  eyes  shining.  Neither  Ambler  nor  the  old 
negro  had  heard  him  coming  around  the  angle  of  the 
house. 

"  If  you  would !  "  Ambler  came  gingerly  down  the 
few  steps  she  had  mounted.  "  If  you  only  would ! 
Oh ! "  The  rickety  ladder  slid  beneath  her  shifting 
weight,  and  flung  her  backwards.  She  swayed  for  a 
second  against  Jenifer's  shoulder,  and  then,  red  as  the 
rose  behind  her,  stood  a  yard  away. 

"  If  I  were  only  as  tall  as  you  it  would  have  been 
done,"  she  cried  in  brave  defence  of  her  confusion. 
"  Look !  "  The  gesture  of  her  outspread  hands  was 
mock  tragedy.  It  was  in  comic  despair  of  trailing  vine 
and  beaten  bush.  "  The  ivy  is  long  enough  to  train 
back  again.  The  roses  I  shall  leave  alone,  all  but 
this.  A  —  h !  "  long-drawn,  and  spoken  with  delight. 
Jenifer  slipped  the  ladder  into  place,  poised  himself 
lightly  upon  it,  and  leaned  to  fasten  the  long  and  thorny 


202  Jenifer 

branch  by  rusted  nail  and  b  ken  thread.  "  Thank 
you,"  she  said  sedately,  as  Jenifer  sprang  to  the 
ground. 

"  I  promised  Joshua  some  help  about  the  garden," 
began  the  young  man  stiffly.  "  I  had  to  take  out  before 
the  storm;  and  it  is  too  late  to  go  back  again,  and 
so  —  " 

"  It's  too  late  to  do  anything  else,"  declared  Ambler 
lightly.  "  See !  "  The  emphatic  nod  of  her  head  was 
towards  the  west.  The  sky  above  the  peaks  was  stained 
with  red  and  the  wet  walks  shone  in  ruddy  light.  Swal- 
lows were  abroad,  and  the  black  bats  beat  their  wings 
in  the  cool  air. 

Jenifer  smiled  at  the  girl's  air  of  bright  assurance. 
She  stood  in  the  walk  between  the  border  at  the  foot 
of  the  time-stained  wall  and  the  riot  of  vine  and  bush 
behind  her,  and  looked  about  her  with  loving  eyes. 
"  Sometimes,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  think  I  must  come 
out  here  and  trim  this  wilderness.  I've  gone  so  far  as 
to  bring  out  the  knife  and  shears;  and  then  "  —  laugh- 
ing softly  at  the  admission  —  "I  never  knew  what  to 
cut.  I  couldn't  spare  a  branch  or  blossom.  All  I  could 
bear  to  touch  were  those,  quite  dead,  without  the  smallest 
breath  of  a  bud  about  them.  And  so  —  and  so  —  " 
She  ended  with  a  quick  look  at  Jenifer  and  a  laughing 
nod  of  understanding. 

Jenifer's  hands  had  sometimes  ached  to  be  among 
those  things  grown  wild,  pruning  them,  and  bringing 
them  to  their  best. 

"  Well,"  Ambler  laughed  and  with  a  gesture  put 
the  subject  aside.  Then  she  said  suddenly  with  an 


Jenifer  203 

emphasis  of  delight,  "  Mr.  Wooten,  those  apples  are 
ready  to  be  picked." 

Jenifer  wondered  what  turn  of  thought  or  speech 
would  come  next.  "  I  know,"  he  said  tentatively. 

"  I  haven't  an  idea  where  to  ship  them.  I  don't 
know  a  thing  about  it."  Her  eyes  belied  the  seriousness 
of  her  tone. 

Jenifer  laughed.  Her  acknowledgment  of  help- 
lessness touched  the  absurd.  "  Would  you  leave  it  to 
me?" 

"  Would  I !  "  with  a  quick  clasping  of  her  hands 
and  an  eager  leaning  forward. 

The  man  laughed  again.  Her  fervent  tone,  the  way 
in  which  she  caught  at  her  breath,  and  the  widening 
of  her  dark  eyes  were  alluring. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  risk  leaving  them  on  the  trees 
another  day.  They  are  too  nearly  ripe.  Another 
storm  —  No,  they  are  uninjured  yet.  I  have  been  out 
to  see.  But  I'll  not  risk  them  longer.  I've  set  my 
heart  too  much  on  success."  Ambler  had  watched 
Morgan  as  he  set  the  nurslings  out  and  made  him  do 
it  as  she  thought  best,  now  she  wanted  to  prove  that 
she  had  been  right. 

The  bloom  on  the  trees  had  made  the  young  orchard 
look  that  spring  like  a  fleece  flung  at  the  mountain's 
foot.  The  thick-set  fruit  had  been  like  jewels  and  their 
hue  had  grown  to  the  shade  of  the  sun  when  it  flickers 
through  green  leaves. 

"  If  you  will  leave  them  to  me,  I  will  see  them  picked 
and  shipped,  and  look  out  for  them." 

Jenifer  spoke  slowly.    His  fingers  had  been  none  too 


2O4  Jenifer 

firm  about  the  rose  vine.  The  smell  of  the  scattered 
petals,  of  late  roses,  and  of  spicy  jessamine  stifled 
him ;  —  that,  or  the  sight  of  her,  straight,  laughing, 
demure,  or  the  tingle  from  the  touch  of  her  head  for  a 
flashing  second  upon  his  shoulder. 

He  felt  it  still.  Her  dark  wilful  hair  had  brushed 
but  a  moment  against  his  cheek;  the  touch  of  her 
fingers  had  been  light  as  a  butterfly's  wing;  yet  — 

How  alert  she  was!  How  earnest  her  eyes,  with  a 
flicker  of  fun  ready  to  break  through  the  gravity  of 
her  glance !  The  wind  blew  the  curling  hair  about  her 
forehead.  The  slender  figure  was  proudly  held.  Her 
white  gown  clung  close  to  it,  —  and  the  skirt  was  muddy 
at  the  hem.  "  It  is  too  wet  for  you  to  stand  there," 
said  Jenifer  abruptly. 

"  I  never  thought  of  it.  I  have  been  all  over  the 
orchard."  She  moved  away  towards  the  steps  and 
sat  down  where  the  house  had  sheltered  them  and 
the  wood  was  dry. 

Jenifer  followed  and  stood  talking  of  some  new 
project,  Ambler,  chin  in  palm,  listening  thoughtfully. 

The  man's  tall  figure  was  thin,  compact,  and  muscular; 
his  face  brown  and  lean;  and  lines  had  cut  themselves 
about  his  firm  mouth.  His  eyes  had  lost  their  old 
content. 

The  sound  of  their  voices  was  carried  to  Miss  Molly 
in  the  porch.  The  fresh  air  that  blew  about  her  was 
such  as  she  would  have  unloosed  from  the  cave  of  the 
winds  had  the  door  of  it  been  in  her  grasp.  The  sparkle 
on  grass  and  leaves  and  rough  wet  trunks  was  like  that 
of  diamonds  to  her  placid  gaze.  The  rush  of  the  full 


Jenifer  205 

stream  was  music.  Miss  Molly  was  more  than  content; 
she  had  begun  to  grow  elated. 

She  knew  from  Ambler  and  Joshua  that  the  wheat 
had  been  so  well  husbanded  that  it  was  better  than  its 
promise;  that  not  a  stalk  of  corn  was  strangled  from 
neglect;  and  she  had  come  to  feel  but  one  anxiety  about 
the  young  man  whose  efforts  brought  such  results: 
Would  he  stay  on  when  his  first  term  was  past? 

Miss  Molly  need  not  have  worried.  Late  summer 
with  its  harvests,  the  autumn  with  its  ingatherings 
slipped  by;  and  there  was  no  hint  of  Jenifer's  going. 
The  light  was  out  of  the  Hollow  and  the  stars  above 
the  peaks  when  he  now  climbed  homewards  and  in 
the  morning  the  rocks  beneath  Lightfoot's  hoofs  were 
white  with  frost.  The  horse  stepped  daintily  down  the 
slippery  trail.  The  ivy  by  the  path  was  red,  the  black- 
berry scarlet,  and  splashed  with  russet  on  its  rough 
leaves,  and,  clear  yellow  and  red-tinged  brown  and 
glaring  crimson,  chestnut  and  oak  and  dogwood,  locust 
and  hickory  and  gum,  ran  up  to  touch  with  fiery,  saucy 
tips  the  sky. 

The  nights  were  black  in  the  gorge,  and  too  chill 
for  Wooten  to  wait  by  the  trail.  He  might  be  in  Jeni- 
fer's cabin,  a  fire  blazing  ready  for  the  master  of  it,  and 
the  old  man  comfortable  before  it;  he  might  have 
passed  on  to  his  own  hut  after  a  day's  tramping  with 
gun  upon  his  shoulder  and  keen  eyes  peering  from  tree 
to  boulder.  The  squirrels  or  the  partridges,  hung  by 
Jenifer's  door,  betokened  the  old  man's  success.  Once 
a  bronzed  turkey  drooped  his  wings  beside  the  lean-to. 
That  was  the  end  of  the  week  and  Wooten  happened 


206  Jenifer 

in  for  Sunday's  dinner.  The  old  man  could  have  told 
before  he  saw  it  how  the  great  bird  would  look  and 
how  the  smell  of  the  sage  would  float  up  to  the  sapling 
rafters.  Mary  must  have  cooked  it;  she  had  cooked 
them  for  him. 

The  yellow  leaves  of  the  slim  willows  in  the  thicket 
blew  across  the  stream  that  day,  and  choked  it  with 
sodden  golden  barriers;  and  the  logs  of  the  cabin  be- 
yond and  the  rocks  of  its  chimney  were  plain  to  the 
old  man's  sight  when  he  gazed  furtively  through  the 
little  window.  Once  he  saw  a  slow  moving  woman  in 
the  clearing,  and  once  a  sturdy  boy.  They  were  good 
friends,  Wooten  and  the  boy,  when  they  met  on  path 
or  trail,  but  the  mother  held  aloof. 

There  came  a  night  when  Jenifer  missed  the  preacher 
on  the  trail  or  by  the  fireside,  and  found  no  token  of 
him  at  the  cabin  door.  Another  day  brought  still  no 
sign  of  him.  Jenifer  was  tired,  —  he  had  been  plowing 
the  land  for  winter  wheat  and  the  earth,  wet  after  long 
rain,  had  clung  to  his  boot-heel,  and  the  plow  cut  deep 
and  pulled  heavily  at  his  arms,  —  but  he  climbed  to 
the  old  man's  cabin  to  see  why  he  had  stayed  away. 

"  Who's  thar  ?  "  Wooten's  voice  demanded.  "  Who's 
thar  ?  who's  at  that  do*  ?  Come  in  !  Lan',  son,  is  that 
you  ?  "  The  old  man  hid  his  face  in  the  quilts  piled 
close  about  him.  He  did  not  want  Jenifer  to  see  how 
glad,  how  childishly  glad,  he  was.  "  Well,  I'm  glad 
you're  come,"  he  grumbled,  when  Jenifer  stood 
astonished  by  the  bedside.  "  Took  you  long  enough 
to  fin'  out.  Lan'  o'  Goshen !  "  His  face  twisted  into 
a  wry  knot. 


Jenifer  207 

Jenifer  did  not  ask  a  question.  One  glance  had 
showed  him  the  littered  room,  the  fireless  hearth,  the 
table  where  the  old  man  had  last  eaten,  and  the  candle 
on  the  stool  beside  the  bed.  Wooten,  with  agony  in 
every  movement,  had  lighted  it  for  comfort.  Jenifer 
knelt  by  the  hearth,  raked  the  ashes,  piled  the  kindlings, 
and  rolled  the  logs  above  them. 

"  Had  anything  to  eat  to-day  ?  "  he  then  asked. 

"  Don't  want  it." 

Jenifer  brushed  the  crumbs  from  the  table,  swept 
the  rough  floor,  lighted  the  lamp,  and  piled  the  fire 
anew.  His  look  searched  the  tidied  room,  the  high  bed 
where  the  covers  sagged,  and  the  old  man  helpless  on 
his  pillows.  He  turned  on  his  heel;  and  Wooten  heard 
him  crashing  down  the  mountain. 

"  Lan',"  he  moaned  helplessly,  "  he's  gone.  Lawd- 
a-mussy ! "  His  beard  twitched,  but  the  old  man  lay 
still.  The  sound  of  the  crackling  logs  was  friendly. 
He  had  heard  nothing  that  day  but  the  brawling  stream, 
and  the  rising  wind,  as  it  shrieked  through  the  gorge, 
and  the  trees  as  they  bent  before  it;  and,  used  as  he 
was  to  the  sounds,  Wooten  had  never  before  heard 
them  when  he  was  not  of  them,  active.  To  listen  when 
he  could  not  move  a  limb,  to  be  shut  off  from  them  and 
hear  their  wailing,  —  "  Lord !  "  he  moaned,  his  mind 
on  Jenifer  and  the  loud  and  rapid  step  that  soon  was 
faint  and  lost,  "  Lord,  what  is  he  going  to  do  ?  Has 
he  gone  clean  away,  an'  lef  me  ?  Is  he  comin'  back  ? 
What  was  that  ?  "  Some  night  sound,  the  flitting  of 
an  owl  past  his  door,  the  running  of  a  squirrel  upon 
his  roof;  but  presently  a  rhythmic  sound  and  a  ringing 


208  Jenifer 

step.  Jenifer  stood  in  the  door,  and  his  hands  were 
full. 

The  old  man  watched  him  with  delight.  Jenifer 
found  a  skillet.  Something  bubbled  in  it  and  sent 
out  a  steam  to  tickle  appetite.  Loaf-bread^  white  and 
even  of  grain  and  brown  of  crust,  was  on  the  table;  and 
the  battered  coffee-pot  shone  on  a  corner  of  the  hearth. 

That  night  was  the  first.  A  week  Jenifer  was  with 
the  old  man,  night  by  night;  the  days  were  for  the 
fields  beyond  the  Hollow's  mouth. 

"  Son,"  said  Wooten  placidly,  on  the  seventh  night, 
"  you  go  'long  home  now.  Get  a  good  night's  sleep. 
You  done  stayed  too  long  already.  You  can't  burn  a 
candle  at  both  ends.  If  you  work  by  day,  you  mus' 
sleep  by  night.  But  Sam  "  —  he  named  his  own  child 
who  sat  by  the  fireside  —  "  Sam's  goin'  to  stay.  He 
tol'  me  his  ma  sent  him."  Wooten's  tone  betrayed 
sheepish  satisfaction. 

Jenifer  stretched  his  arms  above  his  head.  He  had 
thrown  himself  into  a  low  chair  by  the  hearth,  and 
his  wet  boots  were  thrust  out  towards  the  fire.  "  All 
right,"  he  said  dreamily. 

"  I  believe  you  are  half  asleep." 

"  No." 

Wooten  turned  his  head  on  his  arm.  All  his  move- 
ments were  easier.  In  a  day  or  two  he  would  be  up 
and  "  huntin',  yes,  sir,  huntin' !  Think  because  I  got 
wet  one  time  when  I  was  soppin'  from  climbin'  an' 
climbin'  an'  peepin'  at  one  sassy  squirrel,  an'  never 
seein'  the  clouds  behin'  on  the  mountain  till  'twas 
dark  as  night,  an'  the  rain  was  a-comin',  —  think  be- 


Jenifer  209 

cause  I  got  took  down  once  that  I'm  goin'  to  stay  in 
the  house.  Shucks !  "  His  impatience  had  cut  short 
Jenifer's  cautions. 

"  Son,"  asked  the  old  man  with  a  glance  of  mischief 
from  beneath  his  shaggy  brows,  "  how's  that  sassy  thing 
down  at  The  Park  ?  " 

Jenifer  sat  silent.  Wooten,  delighted,  saw  the  length 
of  the  lounger  stiffen.  "  She's  thar  yet  ?  "  the  old  man 
insisted. 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Jenifer  coldly. 

"  That  Miss  Ambler.  Lord,  —  what  a  name !  Whar 
did  she  git  it  ?  " 

"  Her  mother  was  a  Miss  Ambler,"  Jenifer's  voice 
was  like  the  air  outside,  icy. 

"  Sho !  "  said  Wooten  easily.  Then  after  a  second's 
pause.  "  Ever  see  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  to." 

Wooten  chuckled.  Jenifer,  his  lids  lowered  over  his 
dark  eyes,  his  gaze  on  the  leaping  fire,  again  saw  the 
glimpse  of  her  he  had  caught  that  day. 

The  ripened  walnuts  were  thick  in  the  grass  and 
in  the  stream.  The  sound  of  their  slow  dropping  that 
morning  had  been  like  steady  firing  of  distant  guns, 
and  the  yellow  leaves  had  drifted  down  with  them. 
In  the  afternoon  Jenifer  had  seen  Ambler  husbanding 
the  nuts,  with  Joshua  for  aid.  A  coat  that  showed  her 
supple  curves  was  buttoned  across  her  breast,  and  on 
her  black  hair  was  a  fluffy  crimson  cap.  She  had 
straightened  to  stroke  Lightfoot's  flank  as  Jenifer 
purposely  led  the  horse  near;  and  with  sparkling  eyes 
she  had  told  of  her  ride  that  day. 


aio  Jenifer 

"  I  was  going  down  to  the  store,  and  —  well,  the 
road  is  like  a  plank,  smooth  and  hard,  and  these  frosty 
mornings  "  —  with  an  ecstatic  breath  —  "  and  Light- 
foot;"  another  sigh  of  satisfaction,  as  if  words  could 
express  the  charm  of  neither.  "  We  heard  a  horn, 
way  across  country,  a  fox  horn.  You  should  have  seen 
her  toss  her  head  and  listen.  She'd  hunt  splendidly." 

"  Try  her  sometime,"  Jenifer  urged. 

"  I  will,"  Ambler  declared,  in  spite  of  Joshua's 
grumbling  protest.  Jenifer's  last  look  back  at  her, 
through  the  leafless  orchard,  had  shown  her  with  the 
leaves  drifting  about  her  feet;  and  the  last  sound  of 
her  had  been  the  ring  of  her  laughter  as  she  worked 
with  the  old  negro,  and  teased  and  flouted  him  to  rouse 
his  scornful  speech. 

"  Boun'  to  see  her,"  Wooten  ejaculated.  "  She's 
the  boss,  ain't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  a  good  one  I'll  be  boun'." 

The  shaft  of  mischief  glanced  clear  of  Jenifer,  and 
the  old  man  gave  it  up.  "  Well,"  he  said  after  a  long 
silence,  while  Jenifer's  lowered  lids  gave  his  tired  face 
a  look  of  sleeping,  and  the  boy  sat,  big-eyed  and  im- 
portant, by  the  fire,  his  bare  feet  twisted  upon  the 
rungs  of  his  hickory  chair,  "  well,  you  might  as  well 
go  'long.  You'll  set  thar  all  night  li^e  you  did  befo'; 
an'  thar  ain't  no  need  to,"  the  old  man  added  softly, 
for  him. 

"  Sure  ? "  asked  Jenifer,  getting  slowly  to  his  feet, 
and  stretching  lazily  against  the  spell  of  heat  and 
dreaminess. 


Jenifer  21 1 

"  Sure." 

"All  right."  Jenifer  reached  for  his  hat;  the  door 
slammed,  and  he  was  gone. 

"  Name  o'  Goshen,"  faltered  Wooten,  "  he's  the 
suddenes'  thing  I  ever  saw;  the  slowes'  and  the 
suddenes'." 

That  night  Jenifer  heard  the  Voice  of  the  Mountain 
Spirit.  The  autumn  had  been  foggy,  the  air  heavy, 
the  cold  days  few,  and  clear  crispness  rare.  But  the 
storm  that  caught  Wooten  on  the  mountain  ended  it. 
The  air,  as  Jenifer  strode  homeward,  was  like  strung  steel 
to  the  reflex  of  sound.  The  stars  were  set  above  the 
peaks  like  diamonds  held  in  a  sapphire  mesh  which 
caught  upon  the  mountain-tops;  and  through  the 
Hollow  the  wind  sang  clear  as  a  fiddler's  note  when 
one  taut  string  is  lightly  struck,  than  another,  and 
then,  softly,  the  bow  is  drawn  across  them  all. 

Jenifer  opened  his  door,  but  turned  to  look  again 
into  the  night.  Then  he  heard.  Faint  and  far  like 
the  singing  of  many  wires,  low  and  mighty  like  the 
roll  of  distant  surf,  clear  and  sweet  and  high  again,  — 
a  voice! 

It  was  before  him  in  the  gorge,  behind  him  and 
around  him,  amongst  the  mountain-tops,  —  and  no- 
where. He  could  give  its  sound  no  name,  its  presence 
no  locality.  First  it  thrilled  with  the  fear  that  follows 
the  footsteps  of  the  unknown,  and  then  its  low  voice 
seemed  to  sing  of  all  unfulfilled  promises,  and  forgotten 
hopes,  and  dreams  that  fade  for  want  of  stuff  to  feed 
upon. 


212  Jenifer 

Strong  as  Jenifer  was,  something  stung  beneath  his 
lids.  In  the  Hollow's  dusk  gleamed  and  faded  the 
fancies  he  had  not  known  to  be  so  strongly  cherished, 
early  and  material  dreams,  strange  and  unforgotten 
places  striking  some  chord  of  beauty-love,  swaying  to 
some  fancied  fitness  of  things  and  so  forever  remem- 
bered, —  mists  in  the  valley,  morning  on  the  peaks, 
the  Old  Place  in  its  glamour,  a  fair-haired  woman 
and  the  imagery  he  had  draped  upon  her;  and  the 
singing  of  the  stream  by  his  cabin,  its  stiller  music  at 
the  Hollow's  mouth,  its  clear  shallows,  and  leaning 
above  them  a  slender  figure  with  eyes  where  laughter 
lurked  behind  a  tender  gravity. 

The  Voice  rose  to  paean.  To  him  who  listened  all 
achievement  was  possible;  all  dream  paths  roads  to 
realization;  all  longing  of  the  soul  a  way  towards 
the  ordained.  No  path  too  steep,  no  day  too  long; 
they  led  to  what  the  wild  strain  promised.  They  led  — 
sorrow,  defeat,  strife,  and  agony  —  towards  that  goal 
prophesied  by  the  mighty  singing.  Like  a  last  sweep 
across  the  strings  the  Voice  of  the  Spirit  of  the 
Mountains  died  away. 


XXI 

"  Miss  AMBLAH,"  declared  Joshua  impressively, 
"  things  is  a-comin'  our  way  at  las'." 

Ambler,  poised  on  the  log  bridge,  peering  to  see  what 
green  things  braved  the  cold  beside  the  stream,  or  how 
the  moss  rounded  its  cushions  amongst  the  rocks,  stood 
erect  and  looked  across  at  Joshua's  jubilant  face. 
She  knew  the  negro's  accustomed  crookedness  of  speech, 
and  that  this  was  but  a  prelude. 

"  'Clare  'fo'  goodness,"  begun  the  old  negro  slowly, 
as  if  his  attention  had  been  that  moment  riveted,  "  but 
dat  pastu'  is  suttenly  a  fine  one."  He  spoke  of  the 
field  where  Lightfoot  had  flung  her  rider,  and  stood 
looking  towards  it,  his  long  hands  behind  his  back,  his 
lean  body  swaying  forward,  and  his  thick  lips  pursed 
momentously. 

Ambler  glanced  carelessly  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Watah  a-runnin'  dyar  all  de  time,  some  o'  de  grass 
grows  de  wintah  through,  an*  in  summah  time  — 
er-hum!  de  flowahs  an'  de  grass!  Yit  I  'members  de 
time  when  you  could  scyarcely  see  de  groun'  fer  de 
cows  dyar.  Now,"  with  biting  sarcasm,  "  dyar's  jes 
one  po'  cow  to  de  whole  fiel'." 

"  Poor  cow !  "  cried  Ambler  indignantly.     "  Dulcie 
is  one  of  the  finest  cows  in  the  country." 
213 


214  Jenifer 

"  Dat's  so,  dat's  so,"  soothingly.  "  I  nebbah  is 
gwine  back  on  Dulcie,  an'  her  buttah  fotchin'  de  highes' 
price  at  de  sto'  —  leas 'ways  when  you'll  let  me  carry 
it  dyar,"  with  resentful  flash,  remembering  how  often 
it  had  been  forbidden  him.  Ambler  would  stint  herself 
and  her  small  household  of  nothing  for  the  sake  of 
selling  it.  It  was  one  of  Joshua's  grievances. 

"  But  "  —  Joshua  began  to  feel  his  way  cautiously  — 
"  Dulcie  she's  none  too  young  now,  she  ain't;  an'  we 
been  sellin'  her  calf  ebery  year.  Marse  Howard," 
naming  a  neighbor  slowly  and  reflectively,  "  he's  got 
de  pretties'  little  yaller  calf  you  ebbah  seed;  an'  he 
'lowed  he'll  sell  her  for  ten  dollahs.  Not  as  how  I 
axed  him,"  shaking  his  head  virtuously.  "  I  jes  pro- 
jected erroun'  easisome  lak,  dat  day  I  met  him  in  de 
road,  an'  I  say  what  is  a  Juzzey  calf  wuth,  an'  he  up 
an'  said  he  had  one  he'd  sell  fer  ten  dollahs."  Joshua 
rubbed  his  bristly  chin  reflectively  with  the  back  of 
his  hand  and  flashed  Ambler  a  glance  out  of  the  tail 
of  his  expressionless  eyes. 

"  A  little  yaller  calf  down  dyar  by  de  side  o'  Dulcie 
now,  to  be  sho  'twould  be  a  pritty  sight  to  see  her 
a-sportin'  roun',  an'  kind  o'  growin'  up  wid  de  summah 
flowahs.  Little  calves  is  so  lively  an'  sportsome,  an' 
little  yaller  calves  is  suttenly  pritty.  Dulcie  now, 
she's  raid." 

The  ripple  of  Ambler's  laughter  rang  to  the  house. 
"  And  you  would  like  to  buy  the  Jersey  ? " 

Joshua  grinned,  but  was  silent. 

"  All  right ! "  Ambler  ran  lightly  along  the  log, 
and  with  a  spring  was  on  the  ground.  "  It's  a  good 


Jenifer  215 

idea.  We  ought  to  have  another  cow;  and  it's  useless 
to  feed  poor  stock,"  an  axiom  which  she  had  caught 
from  Jenifer. 

"  La !  "  chuckled  Joshua,  "  an'  in  a  year  or  two 
dyar'll  be  twice  de  'mount  o'  buttah  to  sell  —  ef  I  gets 
a  chance  to  sell  it.  Miss  Amblah,  Marse  Jen'fah  been 
tellin'  me,"  began  Joshua  shamefacedly,  "  'bout  chickens 
fotchin'  a  big  price  norf,  early  in  de  spring.  An'  he  say 
as  how  he'll  fin'  out  whar  to  sen'  'em." 

"  What  in  the  world  would  you  do  with  chickens 
this  cold  weather  ?  "  Ambler  stopped  to  ask. 

"  I  done  thought  o'  dat.  I'd  keep  'em  right  dyar  in 
de  house  wid  me.  Joshua  won't  min'  de  little  things; 
no,  indeedy.  Dey'll  be  comp'ny  dese  long  wintah 
nights.  Aigs  is  bringin'  a  tol'ble  price,  an'  dyar's  some 
to  sell ;  but  ef  I  could  try  my  han'  at  settin'  'em  —  " 

"  Take  all  you  want."  There  was  a  trace  of  teasing 
in  Ambler's  tone.  Joshua  had  withstood  every  hinted 
innovation  and  to  talk  to  him  about  any  new  plan  was, 
as  the  old  negro  had  wrathfully  assured  her,  "  lak 
pourin'  watah  on  a  duck's  back;  don't  huht  him  'tall. 
He  jes  flop  his  wings  an'  flirt  he'se'f  an'  go  'long." 
And  Joshua  had  given  a  twist  of  his  shoulders  and  a 
flap  of  his  elbows  in  imitation.  Ambler  had  under- 
stood. The  rite  of  Jupiter  Pluvius  had  been  neglected. 
"  Try  it  all  you  want,"  she  called  back  over  her  shoulder. 

"  To  be  sho  now,"  Joshua  chuckled,  "  we  mought 
make  as  much  off  de  chickens  as  we  do  off  Dulcie's 
calf.  De-laws-a-me !  ef  dyar's  one  thing  it  takes  to 
make  money  'tis  money;"  and  he  went  off,  his  lean 
breast  swelling  high  with  hopes. 


216  Jenifer 

How  beneficent  is  a  steady  stream  of  money  flowing 
through  a  life  that  has  been  bare  for  lack  of  it !  What 
tender  things,  what  blades  of  promise  and  buds  of 
hope  put  up  beside  it!  Miss  Molly  had  done  so  long 
without  things  that  she  scarcely  knew  what  to  do  with; 
and  her  placidity  was  but  a  last  citadel.  All  else  being 
charged  and  won  by  poverty  the  garrison  of  self  had 
withdrawn  to  this,  and  held  it  bravely,  with  romance 
for  aid  and  lack  of  ambition  for  accessory.  But  with 
the  counting-in  of  winter  and  the  hope  of  spring  the 
uplift  of  thrift  was  in  the  air.  Miss  Molly  felt  the 
thrill  of  it. 

Tender  wheat  grew  where  the  embayed  fields  thrust 
between  the  foldings  of  the  mountain  foot;  the  fresh- 
ploughed  land  was  red;  the  peak's  side  smoked  with 
burning  of  its  trees;  Ambler  and  Joshua  were  for- 
ever out-of-doors ;  —  but  the  better  for  Miss  Molly's 
dreaming. 

Her  thumb  was  often  between  the  worn  pages,  her 
gaze  longer  upon  the  fire,  her  placidity  threaded  with 
growing  purpose;  and,  like  many  another  quiet  nature, 
she  held  to  her  plans  tenaciously. 

The  beginning  of  her  alluring  ideas  was  about  Ambler's 
clothes.  Ambler  had  bought  a  dress  at  the  country 
store,  and  had  put  it  together  neatly,  but  with  a  care- 
lessness of  effect.  Miss  Molly,  aiding  her,  had  had 
her  imagination  stirred  by  thinking,  as  she  sewed  before 
the  winter's  fire,  of  what  her  niece  might  wear  and 
how  she  might  look,  and  Miss  Molly  had  the  artist's 
perception  of  shades  and  colorings  which  is  a  gift. 

Warm  red  tones  she  longed  for,  instead  of  the  blue 


Jenifer  217 

stuff  her  fingers  handled;  and  deep  browns,  with  a 
hint  of  gold  in  their  glintings,  like  the  sheen  of  Ambler's 
hair  and  the  sparkles  in  the  iris  of  her  eyes ;  or  trailing 
whites  for  festive  garb,  puffed  and  rounded  to  show 
the  dimpled  arms  and  slender  throat.  To  leave  beauty 
unadorned  is  sin.  Had  it  not  been  hard  to  see  Ambler's 
slender  girlhood  throw  out  hints  of  promise  with  no 
means  to  foster  them  or  give  them  proper  setting  ? 
So,  at  least,  it  had  seemed  to  Miss  Molly. 

The  thoughts  of  the  city's  winters  and  The  Springs' 
summers,  which  the  child  ought  to  have,  had  glowed 
upon  the  horizon  and  sunk  beneath  it,  and  Ambler  had 
gone  her  wholesome,  light-hearted  way,  none  the  worse 
for  the  fancied  loss.  To  Miss  Molly,  missing  these 
things  was  disaster.  They  were  a  heritage,  they  and 
the  filling  of  the  big  rooms,  now  dismantled,  with 
guests. 

But  was  the  misfortune  irretrievable  ?  Or,  first, 
was  Ambler  always  to  go  gowned  in  stuffs  which,  ac- 
cording to  Miss  Molly's  dictum,  showed  such  wretched 
taste  ?  Had  they  not  now  the  means  of  doing  more  ? 
Did  not  Ambler's  gleeful  talk  and  Joshua's  joyful 
reckoning  mean  that  something  better  was  at  hand  ? 
Miss  Molly's  shrewd  questioning  soon  elicited  all  she 
wanted  to  know:  and  then  her  dreams  were  deeper 
and  brighter. 

Home  mathematics  had  been  long  simple.  "  No 
balance  on  hand"  expressed  them;  and  "decreasing 
capital "  might  have  been  added.  Few  women  are 
successful  lords  of  the  soil,  and  Miss  Molly's  regency 
had  depleted  the  place.  Ambler's  heritage  was  mainly 


218  Jenifer 

a  tangle  of  tradition  and  perplexities,  which  she  strove 
to  break  through,  finding  no  weak  spot  in  the  hedgings. 
Now,  the  girl  was  wrapped  in  thoughts  of  progress 
and  improvements. 

"  Mr.  Wooten  is  going  to  run  a  new  line  of  fence 
back  of  the  woods,"  she  announced  one  night.  The 
two  women  had  been  silent  before  the  fire.  It  was 
late,  and  Ambler  had  loosened  her  hair  and  shaken  it 
free  upon  her  shoulders.  Miss  Molly  glanced  lovingly 
at  the  curling  ends  and  the  glint  of  gold  the  firelight 
caught  in  its  dark  mass;  and  she  asked  a  question  to 
which  she  was  unused. 

"  What  will  it  cost  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  can  get  the  rails  out  of 
our  own  woods.  Just  a  man  to  help  him,  I  suppose. 
He  is  going  to  work  on  it  himself.  There's  little  to  do 
just  now." 

"Humph!"  said  Miss  Molly;  but  even  dissent, 
with  her,  was  good-natured. 

"  And  the  barn  roof  must  be  mended.  I  wish  we 
could  have  it  reshingled." 

Miss  Molly  was  silent.  She  knew  a  better  use  for 
money,  though  it  was  yet  too  soon  to  speak  of 
it. 

"  Aunt  Molly,"  began  Ambler  slowly,  —  her  cheek 
dimpling,  her  eyes  glowing,  —  "  maybe  in  the  spring  I 
can  buy  a  horse.  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  Ambler 
leaned  over  to  clasp  Miss  Molly's  round  knee,  and  give 
it  a  loving  squeeze. 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  want  with  a  horse  ? 
Isn't  there  one  in  the  stable  ? " 


Jenifer  219 

"  She  does  not  belong  to  me,"  declared  Ambler 
proudly. 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  Mr.  Wooten's  horse,"  —  Aunt 
Molly  was  clearly  impatient,  —  "  but  Bill." 

"  Bill !  He's  an  old  plug.  I  would  not  be  caught 
behind  him ;  and  as  for  riding !  "  —  the  tilt  of  her  chin 
bespoke  Ambler's  distaste  better  than  words. 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  always  glad  enough  to  get  him," 
declared  Miss  Molly  plaintively. 

"  That's  it;  that's  just  it,  Aunt  Molly.  Bill  is  needed 
for  farm  work.  He  is  not  fit  for  anything  else.  He's 
good  in  the  fields,  strong  and  steady;  but  he's  a  poke." 
The  ripple  of  Ambler's  low  laugh  set  Miss  Molly's 
lips  a-smiling.  "  And  —  we  —  are  —  going  —  to  have  — 
a  —  horse  —  just  to  drive !  "  she  added,  with  saucy 
emphasis.  "  You  know  that  will  be  nice.  You  know 
you  are  longing  to  go  all  over  the  country  and  see 
everybody  you  know !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  go  about  a  little  more  —  " 

"  I  know,  I  know.  I  don't  mind  staying  at  home. 
I  love  it.  But  you  —  " 

"  I  always  liked  company,"  announced  Miss  Molly 
gently,  and  sat  happily  silent,  while  the  light  leaped 
and  died,  and  Ambler's  eyes  were  first  clear  and  shining 
and  then  dusky  and  dreamy,  and  her  slender  fingers 
were  busied  with  her  hair,  twisting  it  into  long  and 
heavy  plaitings.  "  I  have  stayed  at  home  so  long  I 
really  would  like  to  go  away,"  Aunt  Molly 
added. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Molly !  "  in  quick  dismay.  "  Can't 
you  manage  to  do  it  ?  Couldn't  we  get  some  one  to 


22O  Jenifer 

stay  here  with  me  ?  I  don't  believe  I  should  be  afraid 
to  stay  alone !  " 

"The  idea!" 

"  I  might." 

"  Why  couldn't  you  go  too  ?  "  Aunt  Molly  had  fired 
her  first  gun,  and  skilfully. 

"  I !  "  asked  Ambler  in  amazement.  "  I  couldn't 
leave  now." 

"  Who  said  anything  about  going  now  ?  But  in  the 
summer  when  there  is  nothing  in  particular  to  look 
after  —  " 

"  Oh,  well;  maybe  we  might  manage  it  then."  But 
summer  was  far  off;  Ambler  dismissed  the  thought  of 
it.  She  moved  slowly  about  the  room,  turning  down 
the  thick  covers  on  the  wide  bed,  closing  the  shutters 
for  the  night. 

At  the  last  window  she  lingered.  The  night  was 
warm  and  soft,  presaging  spring;  the  stars  faint  and 
large  and  luminous  with  a  mist  between  them  and  the 
earth.  The  smell  of  burnt  leaves  and  smouldering 
sedge  hung  like  a  pungent  breath  beneath  the  trees; 
and  the  song  of  the  stream  was  sweet. 

"  Ambler,  you'll  catch  cold,  leaning  out  of  that  win- 
dow half-dressed.  The  room  is  chilly  already."  But 
Miss  Molly,  spite  of  her  soft  scolding,  looked  content. 
Her  lips  were  pursed  together  thoughtfully  and  she 
rocked  softly. 

Day  by  day  she  grew  more  determined.  The  oak 
no  sooner  put  out  its  buds,  the  grass  no  earlier  greened, 
the  apple-trees  were  no  sooner  abloom,  than  Miss 
Molly  began  to  be  bolder  in  her  hints. 


Jenifer  221 

They  went  unheeded.  Miss  Molly  found  a  yellow 
advertisement,  cut  out  the  pictured  house  with  its 
pillared  porch  and  cottages  and  rolling  lawn,  and 
stuck  it  in  the  frame  of  the  looking-glass. 

"  What's  this  ? "  asked  Ambler  carelessly,  as  she 
stopped  before  the  mirror  to  straighten  her  hair. 

"  That !  "  in  pretended  amazement.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  place  ?  " 

"  No,"   serenely. 

Miss  Molly,  with  an  attempt  at  asperity,  named  a 
resort  in  the  mountains  still  farther  toward  the  west, 
the  place  where  the  family  had  been  wont  to  flock. 
"  I  used  to  go  there  every  summer  when  I  was  a  girl." 
She  sighed  softly.  "  Oh,  Amber,"  she  cried  with  sud- 
den burst  of  frankness,  "  I  wish  you  could  go,  just 
once.  I  wish  you  could  see  it,  what  it  is  like;  and  the 
people  —  "  Her  voice  trailed  off.  Ambler  had  turned 
slowly,  uplifted  brush  in  hand;  her  eyes  were  wide 
with  astonishment.  "  I  don't  see  why  we  can't  go  this 
summer !  "  And  Aunt  Molly  had  opened  full  artillery. 

She  watched  Ambler's  dismay  with  confidence.  She 
knew  her  niece  and  reckoned  wisely  on  Ambler's  traits. 
The  thing  she  wanted  to  do  she  knew  was  out  of  all 
keeping  with  her  niece's  desires;  but  then  Ambler 
had  the  rare  quality  of  loving  success  and  progress  for 
their  stimulus,  and  not  for  the  money  which  they  might 
bring.  That,  in  her  generous  mind,  was  as  much 
Aunt  Molly's  as  her  own  and  the  older  woman  was 
welcome  to  the  spending  of  it.  The  girl  had  thought 
of  restoring  rooms  and  of  better  barns,  but  Aunt  Molly 
should  have  the  thing  she  desired;  and  Aunt  Molly's 


222  Jenifer 

old  tales  and  memories  and  sudden  confidences  were 
like  the  working  of  a  mine.  By  and  by  Ambler  began 
to  think  of  it  as  her  aunt  intended  she  should.  She 
began  to  be  anxious  to  go. 

Miss  Molly  knew  but  one  feminine  nature.  Women, 
nice  women,  were  alike;  men  might  be  different.  Give 
a  woman  a  taste  of  what  she  should  have,  and  the  rest 
would  follow.  What  woman  did  not  love  pretty  clothes  ? 
Ambler  would,  if  she  knew  what  they  were.  And  if 
the  niece  lacked  knowledge,  the  aunt  did  not.  Was 
there  any  art  of  old-time  beguilement  —  old,  as  the 
world,  alas !  and  new  as  to-day,  and  lasting  long  as  the 
love  of  man  will  warm  to  its  witchery  —  was  there  one 
she  did  not  know  ?  Little  tricks  of  beauty  which  a 
man  would  smile  to  see,  and  love  the  dainty  sorceress 
the  better  for  his  knowledge.  Aunt  Molly  could  have 
charmingly  drilled  the  maid  she  loved;  but  she  must 
be  wary,  for  field  lore  and  wood  lore  and  horse  lore 
were  Ambler's  loves. 

The  aunt  began  with  dresses.  Briar  Park's  mail 
was  suddenly  heavy  with  advertisements.  Aunt  Molly 
unfastened  with  delight  the  brass  holdings  to  fat  en- 
velopes and  sent  the  colorings  fluttering.  Pink  for 
Ambler,  or  blue,  or  white;  or  corn-color  with  lines  of 
ebony  velvet  to  give  distinction,  or  roses  scattered  on 
pale  gauze  ? 

The  dressmaker  that  the  schemer  was  driven  to 
consult  and  to  bring,  at  last,  to  Briar  Park,  grew  as 
enthusiastic  as  herself.  Ambler  laughed  at  both  and 
stood  impatiently  while  they  snipped  and  smoothed 
and  fitted;  but  there  came  a  day  when,  with  ruffles 


Jenifer  223 

about  her  feet  and  fluffy  bodice  upon  her  shoulders, 
slipping  her  bare  neck,  she  wondered  if  the  girl  the 
glass  gave  back  were  herself.  Her  dark  eyes  sparkled 
at  the  reflection. 

"  Wait,"  she  cried  impulsively.  "  I  must  have  a 
rose  for  here  and  here,"  touching  her  bodice  lightly. 
"I  know  the  very  buds.  They  bloomed  to-day;" 
and  she  was  out  of  the  big  room  in  a  flash,  her  pink 
skirts  lighting  the  old  hall,  as  the  apple-blossoms  had 
brightened  The  Park. 

The  women  by  the  bed  and  its  heaped  finery  laughed 
softly  at  the  swift  patter  of  her  feet  and  the  first  flash 
of  her  enthusiasm;  and  they  broke  into  congratulations. 
They  did  not  notice  that  Ambler  was  long  in  finding 
a  rose. 

When  the  girl  ran  down  the  moss-grown  steps  with 
her  skirts  lifted  daintily  and  her  gaze  on  the  buds  she 
had  seen  that  morning,  she  ran  almost  against  Jenifer. 
He  needed  consent  for  some  intended  work,  and  came 
to  get  it. 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Ambler  softly,  her  dropped  skirts 
swirling  about  her,  her  hands  clasped  in  swift  dismay,  — 
she  felt  as  if  she  were  playing  a  masquerade.  Her 
cheeks  were  pinker  than  her  gown;  Jenifer's  white  as 
the  syringa  blossoms  behind  him. 

Something  in  his  eyes,  in  the  tenseness  of  his  face, 
made  the  girl  saucily  defensive.  "  It  is  Aunt  Molly's 
choice,"  she  announced,  pulling  herself  together  and 
turning  slowly,  like  a  preening  bird.  "  Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  said  Jenifer,  with  stifled  voice. 

"  Ah !    I  like  it  myself,"  she  admitted  naively. 


224  Jenifer 

But  the  thought  of  herself  and  her  gown  was  gone 
in  the  next  breath.  "  You  know  we  are  going  next 
week  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Joshua  told  me.  And  so  — "  Jenifer  spoke 
quickly  of  the  business  which  had  brought  him. 

Ambler's  fingers  fumbled  with  the  roses  as  she  listened ; 
Jenifer  cut  them,  laid  them  in  her  hands,  and,  with  a 
gaze  that  swept  bare,  rounded  neck  and  dimpled  arms 
and  slender  form  and  down-drooped  lids,  dropped  the 
branches  behind  him. 

The  girl  went  soberly  up  the  steps. 

It  seemed  incongruous,  all  that  Aunt  Molly  planned. 
Better  the  easy  dress,  the  light-hearted  awakening,  the 
sound  of  the  stream,  and  the  sight  of  empurpled  peaks. 
What  did  she  care  for  the  crowds,  or  for  the  gaiety 
that  had  been  so  brightly  pictured,  while  the  laurel 
bloomed  like  drifting  snow  between  the  boulders,  and 
the  fox-grape  hid  its  clustered  blossoms  ? 

To  leave  these !  and  for  what  ?  She  would  be  bored 
to  death  where  there  were  people  to  be  forever  talked 
to;  tired  to  extinction  where  there  were  always  watch- 
ing eyes;  wearied  past  endurance  by  the  things  Aunt 
Molly  cared  for. 

But  she  was  not!  Aunt  Molly  had  well  gauged  the 
young  girl's  heart.  The  loving  manoeuverer  but  slipped 
the  hood  upon  her  falcon's  eyes  to  let  her  see.  It  was 
a  pastime  flight,  no  warfare;  and  the  aunt  had  been 
sure  of  the  graceful  sweep ;  nor  was  she  wrong.  Some 
prisoned  spirit  seemed  to  break  its  bars  within  Ambler's 
heart :  it  ruled  her  with  a  wand  whose  witchery  reached 
to  others. 


Jenifer  225 

Ambler  was  new  and  fresh  to  the  life.  The  blue  of 
Aunt  Molly's  eyes  deepened  as  she  watched  the  girl 
come  into  what  she  had  desired  for  her,  beauty,  bright- 
ness, laughter  ringing  true  from  ready  lips,  quick  and 
kindly  speech :  and  eyes  of  others  to  see,  and  ears  of 
others  to  hear. 

It  was  dreadful  to  Miss  Molly  to  turn  her  back  upon 
the  places  of  her  victory.  Ambler  seemed  not  to  care. 
She  ticked  off  on  impatient  fingers  the  hours  of  their 
journey  homeward.  "  Seven  hours  —  five  —  four  — 
three  —  one !  We're  nearly  there,  Aunt  Molly,  nearly 
home !  Will  Joshua  come  to  meet  us  ?  Oh,"  in 
whispered  rapture.  "  here  we  are !  " 

The  wheels  whined  against  the  rails,  the  store  slid 
into  view,  the  waiting-shed.  "  Oh,  oh,"  in  ecstasy. 
"Look,  Aunt  Molly,  look!" 

Joshua,  too  erect  to  do  more  than  turn  his  head, 
sat  in  the  buggy,  which  was  shining  with  fresh  paint. 
The  old  negro  himself  had  bedecked  it  with  patient 
hands,  "  to  see  de  ladies  home."  Joshua's  fingers, 
for  all  their  pretended  tightness  on  the  reins,  trembled 
as  he  slowly  turned  his  head.  "  Gawd's  sake !  "  he 
cried,  as  Ambler  flitted  down  the  steps. 

The  girl  wore  the  gown  she  had  donned  before  she 
went  away,  and  it  showed  its  wearing,  but  the  con- 
ductor stood  with  bared  head,  the  brakeman's  arms 
were  filled  with  wraps,  the  porter  grinned  near  by;  and 
the  train  that  should  have  been  flying  was  held  till  the 
conductor  accompanied  the  young  woman  to  her 
carriage  steps. 

Joshua  looked  at  the  straight  uniformed  figure  that, 


226  Jenifer 

with  its  hand  still  on  the  bell-cord,  leaned  to  gaze, 
and  at  the  laughing  women.  His  welcome  was  short, 
his  words  were  few;  but  the  old  darkey  could  have 
cried  as  Bill  took  up  his  steady  trot. 

He  knew  those  wiles,  those  smiles  and  glancings 
from  beneath  dark  lashes,  those  demure  allurements. 
They  belonged  to  the  women  of  his  house;  and  he 
had  thought  them  lost.  "  Miss  Amblah  had  done 
foun*  'em  somewhar,  an*  fetch  'em  home.  Praise 
Gawd!  Hallelu!" 

It  was  a  day  or  two  before  Joshua  wondered  on 
whom  these  blandishments  could  be  practised.  He  might 
have  spared  himself  anxiety.  There  had  been  a  young 
man  at  The  Springs  who  made  haste  to  remember  a 
cousin  dwelling  in  the  neighborhood;  and  the  proudest 
day  the  old  negro  had  known  was  when  a  strange 
horseman  found  his  way  along  the  road  that  wound  to 
Briar  Park. 

Joshua  took  the  visitor's  horse  and  showed  the  young 
man  into  the  big  bare  hall,  turning  away  chuck- 
ling. 

He  went  into  the  dismantled  parlor  where  the  wind 
sighed  through  broken  window-panes,  and  opened  the 
door  that  led  into  the  library  beyond,  where  the  hearth 
was  filled  with  fallen  bricks ;  and  he  shook  his  grizzled 
head.  The  others,  those  "  boys  Miss  Amblah  had 
done  growed  up  wid  "  had  not  mattered ;  but  this,  a 
stranger !  "  She'll  hab  to  tek  her  chances,"  the  old 
man  muttered.  "  She'll  hab  to  tek  her  chances." 

They  were  good  as  far  as  this  visitor  was  concerned. 
The  man  was  handsome,  and  his  city-dwelling  family 


Jenifer  227 

unimpeachable.  If  Aunt  Molly  had  carved  him  from 
her  old  romances,  he  could  not  have  been  better 
fashioned.  He  sang,  he  danced,  he  rode;  he  was 
clever  in  the  new  games  of  which  Miss  Molly  knew 
not  even  the  names;  and  he  could  make  a  living.  Miss 
Molly  had  taken  the  pains  to  inquire. 

It  seemed  as  if  Victory,  who  had  so  long  pointed  the 
backward  tips  of  his  pinions  toward  her,  faced  her 
now  with  full  sweep  of  his  magnificent  wings.  For  the 
young  man  was  undeniably  in  love,  and  Ambler  was  — 
"  was  interested,"  the  spinster  softly  whispered  to  her- 
self. Further,  modesty  would  not  penetrate.  How 
could  Aunt  Molly  dream  that  the  stir  of  love  might  be 
in  a  young  woman's  pulses  and  she  mistake  the  man 
who  had  awakened  it? 

She  made  Ambler's  way  too  easy,  and  fostered  the 
new  interest  too  faithfully.  Aunt  Molly  took  to  house- 
keeping, for  Ambler  must  not  be  disturbed.  She  took 
to  urging  the  young  man,  when  he  came,  to  stay  to 
meals,  whose  bounty  made  Ambler  flash  mischievous 
glances  towards  Aunt  Molly,  whose  flush  betrayed  her. 
And  what  places  for  love-making  were  the  deep  porch, 
the  shadowed  yard,  and  the  borders  of  the  stream ! 

Aunt  Molly  would  shut  her  eyes  and  give  fancy  a 
loose  rein,  when  she  saw  the  flicker  of  Ambler's  white 
dress  beneath  the  trees  and  the  straight  figure  that 
attended.  To  have  stood  there  herself,  to  have  been 
slim  and  young  and  beautiful,  to  have  heard  hot  words 
and  felt  her  pulses  thrill  —  If  God  had  leaned  to  ask 
Aunt  Molly  name  her  heaven,  so  she  would  have  termed 
it,  had  she  the  skill  to  divine  the  thing  she  most  desired. 


228  Jenifer 

So  she  would  have  chosen  for  a  space,  while  the  High 
and  Mighty  Holies  waited  her  tarrying  steps. 

So  all  things  fostered  the  young  love,  —  all  but  one. 

Jenifer  passed  "  Miss  Amblah  "  in  the  dusk  of  a  day 
that  had  been  close  and  hot.  It  was  late  summer,  and 
the  cries  of  the  katydids  and  crickets  rasped  him.  He 
was  tired;  with  work,  he  thought;  but  it  was  not  that. 
Labor  and  hope  were  made  man's  blessing;  labor  and 
despair,  his  curse.  Jenifer  had  come  to  the  last. 

By  what  path  he  had  reached  it  he  did  not  know, 
nor  the  name  on  the  dark  lintel  of  the  house  where  he 
abode;  but  through  his  tired  limbs  and  down  his  spent 
nerves  the  spirit  of  it  ran  and  peered  from  his  darkened 
eyes.  Its  chisellings  deepened  the  lines  upon  his  face, 
and  curved  his  mouth.  Even  Lightfoot  felt  the  lassitude 
of  his  touch  upon  her  rein  as  she  splashed  through  the 
water,  her  head  drooping  listlessly. 

Meadow-sweet  and  queen's  lace  and  yarrow  bloomed 
high  beside  the  stream,  and  brushed  the  horse's  dappled 
sides.  The  apples  were  ripening.  Their  rich  odor  and 
the  acrid  smell  of  tasselled  corn  were  in  the  air. 

Jenifer  heard  a  step  amongst  the  apple-trees  and  a 
rustling  of  thick  leaves,  and,  when  he  turned  his  head, 
he  saw  a  slim,  light-clad  figure  with  arms  uplifted  and 
face  upraised.  The  young  man  flung  himself  from 
his  saddle  and  strode  towards  Ambler,  bending  his 
head  beneath  the  branches. 

She  turned  with  the  quick,  merry  air  which  was  one 
of  her  new  witcheries.  She  had  been  sometimes  grave 
before  and  sometimes  slow-spoken,  with  a  wholesome 
laughter  that  waited  for  slender  coaxing.  Now  the 


Jenifer  229 

very  air  about  her  seemed  gay  and  touched  with  tender- 
ness. She  waited,  one  slender  hand  still  on  the  bough, 
the  loose  sleeve  slipping  from  her  rounded  arm,  her 
laughing  face  gleaming  in  the  dusk. 

"  I  am  counting  them,"  she  said  gaily.  "  There 
are  more  apples  than  last  year,  twice  more." 

"  Miss  Ambler,"  —  Jenifer  ignored  speech  and 
laughter  and  any  commonplace.  He  went  straight  to 
the  question  he  meant  to  ask,  —  "  Miss  Ambler,  you 
are  to  be  married  ?  " 

The  arm  trembled  a  little  on  the  apple-bough  and 
she  leaned  her  cheek  against  it.  "  Yes,"  she  breathed. 

"  When  ? " 

The  sudden  gravity  of  her  face  and  the  whiteness  of 
her  cheek  he  had  never  before  seen.  Her  smile  was 
wistful. 

"  In  the  fall  —  I  am  afraid,"  she  whispered. 


XXII 

A  BEAM  of  light  shone  like  a  search- light  through 
Jenifer's  open  door.  It  showed  the  clean  bare  floor, 
the  black  rough  fireplace,  the  whitewashed  walls,  the 
low  rafters,  —  and  an  untouched  bed.  Jenifer  was 
moving  slowly  about  the  lean-to;  his  eyes  were  wide 
and  bright  from  sleeplessness. 

The  sunshine  lay  warm  on  his  doorstep.  The  shadow 
of  the  locust  leaves  flickered  across  it;  and  a  white 
butterfly  settled  in  the  warmth,  his  wings  fluttering  in 
the  faint  wind  that  stole  with  morning  up  the  Hollow. 
A  catbird  sang  his  liquid  morning  song  amongst  the 
willows.  A  listening  mocking-bird  caught  up  the  song 
and  broidered  it,  and  flung  it  back  in  exultant  ecstasy. 
The  sound  of  the  stream  was  strong  and  musical.  In 
the  jubilant  waking  world  the  man  alone  was  desperate. 

The  night  had  brought  Jenifer  no  rest,  the  morning 
no  freshness.  Lightfoot  was  whinnying  in  her  stall, 
and  he  crossed  the  wet  grass  listlessly,  and  loosed  and 
fed  her.  At  the  shelter  door  he  stood  irresolute.  The 
drenched  grass  sparkled  at  his  feet,  the  dew  dripped 
from  the  bent  ferns,  and,  shining  amongst  them,  a 
cluster  of  pinks  flared  their  crimson  to  the  sun. 

Jenifer  stooped  to  them  suddenly,  and,  as  a  step 
crashed  in  the  thicket,  strode  across  the  clearing,  down 
230 


Jenifer  231 

the  rough  path  to  the  stream,  sprang  over  it,  and  up  the 
mountainside. 

Where  the  brook  came  leaping  down  above  Jenifer's 
cabin,  it  curved  close  beside  the  beetling  peak,  and  the 
rushing  water  cut  beneath  the  trees.  The  rocks  piled 
high  in  the  stream's  bed;  and  the  spot  was  as  remote 
as  if  no  man  had  ever  found  his  way  into  the  pockets 
of  the  peaks. 

In  the  deep  shadows,  Jenifer  was  indistinguishable; 
at  his  feet  the  stream  split  into  a  hundred  rills  and 
spun  its  threads  of  brown,  or  bubbled  in  deep  worn 
hollows.  Ferns  rose  up  beneath  his  hand.  Lichens 
clad  the  rocks.  Up  the  peak  the  sweet-gum  flickered 
a  flag  of  red,  setting  the  earliest  danger  signal  for  the 
frost. 

Jenifer's  thought,  the  worse  for  him,  was  clear.  He 
could  follow  the  steps  of  his  life,  at  last;  and  to  gauge 
them  was  agony.  He  bent  his  arms  upon  his  knees 
and  leaned  his  face  within  his  hands;  and,  as  the  water 
ran,  so  there  slipped  before  him  hour  and  day  and 
deed.  Suddenly,  at  some  stinging  memory,  he  straight- 
ened and  flung  his  arm  despairingly  above  his  head. 
The  gesture  was  seen  by  one  who,  keen-eyed,  climbed 
the  wood. 

Wooten,  slipping  down  the  mountainside,  and  spring- 
ing from  rock  to  rock,  unheard  above  the  water's  rush, 
swung  himself  down  by  Jenifer's  side.  Jenifer  threw 
back  his  head.  His  eyes  flamed  with  anger. 

Wooten  would  not  see  it.  "  Son,"  he  said  with  a 
hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder,  "  Son !  " 

Jenifer  shook  off  the  touch  impatiently.     The  old 


232  Jenifer 

man  looked  down  at  his  white  face  and  tense  mouth, 
and  then  at  the  foaming  water.  He  glanced  back  again, 
quickly  and  keenly;  and  he  settled  himself  imperturb- 
ably  by  Jenifer's  side.  He  was  shrewdly  silent. 

His  pipe  was  in  the  sagging  pocket  of  his  coat,  and 
Wooten  lighted  it,  puffed  slowly  at  it,  and  watched 
the  curl  of  smoke  float  up  beyond  the  rocks. 

"  Sort  o'  lazy  day,"  he  said  as  if  in  deep  satisfaction. 

A  movement  of  Jenifer's  shoulder  was  his  only  answer. 

"  Ain't  got  much  to  do  now  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Sort  o*  breathin'  space;  summer  work  'bout  done, 
an'  fall  ain't  sot  in  good." 

"  This  worl'  is  a  mighty  good  ol'  place,"  the  old  man 
went  on  after  a  long  silence,  "  mighty  good.  An'  look 
like  she's  always  tryin'  to  teach  folks  somethin'.  Gives 
herself  a  long  rest  in  winter  an'  a  spell  now  an'  then 
when  she's  settled  down  to  business  good  an'  steady, 
like  nowabouts.  But  Ian',  we  don't  learn  a  thing.  We 
go  her  one  better  every  time,  an'  work  day  in  an'  day 
out;  an'  some  ain't  got  no  mo'  sense  than  to  be  proud 
of  it.  'Tain't  so  intended.  Son,"  turning  to  Jenifer, 
"  you've  been  workin'  too  hard  yourself;  never  no 
res'  right  straight  along  from  the  day  you  first  started 
down  thar,"  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  in  the  direction 
of  the  Hollow's  mouth. 

"  You've  been  sort  o'  peaked  like  ever  since  —  Ian', 
I  don't  know  when !  Ain't  gettin'  the  fever  ?  "  he  asked 
anxiously.  "  Lemme  feel  your  pulse."  The  old  man's 
hand  was  on  Jenifer's  wrist  before  the  younger  thought 
to  evade  him.  "  Hm !  Lemme  see  your  tongue.  Good 


Jenifer  233 

Ian',  you  needn't  get  so  mad  about  it.  Ain't  you  nussed 
me  ?  Ain't  you  sot  up  with  Hutchins  night  after  night  ? 
Ain't  you  done  look  after  Stith  when  he  was  down  ? 
Don't  you  expect  nobody  to  do  nothing  for  you  when 
you  need  it  ?  "  the  old  man  demanded  wrathfully. 

Jenifer's  curt  assurance  that  he  was  all  right  was  not 
satisfying. 

"  U-m !  "  said  Wooten,  settling  back  against  the 
rocks.  "  Nices'  place  I've  found  for  a  long  time.  Coin' 
to  stay  all  day  ?  Shucks !  I  didn't  mean  right  here, 
in  this  pertickler  spot.  Sun  would  strike  you  'long 
'bout  evenin',  an'  set  you  sizzlin'.  But  here  —  home  ?  " 

Jenifer  assented. 

"  Good  thing,  too."  Wooten  stretched  out  his  long 
legs  and  pulled  at  his  nearly  empty  pipe.  A  yellow 
bird  flitted  from  rock  to  rock,  and  the  old  man's  gaze 
followed  it  carelessly.  It  took  sudden  flight  downward, 
and  dipped  into  the  stream  beyond;  Wooten's  glance 
fell  on  the  pinks  that  wilted  by  the  young  man's  side. 

The  flowers  accused  him.  The  old  man's  heart  had 
been  wrung  with  anxiety:  now  amusement  bubbled 
in  its  place.  He  chuckled  to  himself.  Was  this  it? 
The  cure  was  the  easiest  in  the  world.  If  the  boy  had 
been  getting  sick !  —  But  this ! 

"  That  Miss  Amblah  down  thar  turn  clean  out  this 
summer,"  he  began,  striking  his  subject  lightly. 

"  Got  a  beau,  too,"  probing  deeper,  and  with  mis- 
chievous intent.  "  Good  lookin'  ?  " 

"  Good  enough,"  Jenifer  assented  shortly. 

"  You  don't  say  so,"  innocently.      "  Rich  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 


234  Jenifer 

"  Good  match  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so."      Jenifer's  lips  were  tight  pressed. 

"  Married  soon  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ?  What  have  you 
got  to  do  with  it  ?  "  Jenifer's  face  was  as  white  as  the 
foam.  His  eyes  blazed;  but  Wooten  only  chuckled 
gracelessly. 

"  I  sort  o'  thought  —  I  sort  o'  thought  —  " 

The  clutch  of  Jenifer's  hand  on  th"e  preacher's  knee 
was  like  the  closing  of  a  steel  spring;  but  the  old 
mountaineer  feared  no  man  on  earth;  this  man  least 
of  all.  He  was  angered  to  further  daring. 

"  I  sort  o'  thought  you  wanted  her  yourself,"  he 
drawled.  "  Here !  Sit  down !  None  o'  that  foolish- 
ness. Think  you  could  hurt  me  ?  Get  back  thar ! 
Son !  Son !  "  Jenifer  had  loosened  his  furious  hold, 
slipped  down  on  the  rock,  and  hidden  his  face  on  his 
arm. 

"  Son !  "  Wooten's  touch  upon  the  lowered  head 
was  infinitely  tender  and  his  face  was  as  white  as  the 
leaping  water.  "  Couldn't  you  git  her  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  I  never  tried." 

"  Why  ? " 

Jenifer  threw  back  his  head.  He  gazed  straight  up 
into  the  old  man's  shrewd,  hurt  eyes.  "  Because  I  — 
I  have  a  wife." 

"  Sho !  "    The  old  man's  eyes  flashed  like  steel.    He 
reddened  from  the  open  collar  of  his  shirt  to  his  sun- 
burned hair.     "  Shucks  1 "    he  said  under  his  breath. 
"Whar?" 
"  Home." 


Jenifer  235 

"  Yours  or  hers  ?  " 

"  Hers,"  shortly. 

"And  you  here?" 

Jenifer's  gesture  was  hopeless.  It  dismissed  the 
subject.  His  admission  had  been  made. 

"Tired  o'  her?" 

Jenifer  clenched  his  hands. 

"  Think  anything  o'  her  now  ?  " 

God,  what  questions !  Jenifer  had  asked  them  of 
himself:  and  he  had  answered. 

"  Does  she  care  for  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  wrung  from  him. 

"  Some  other  man  ?  " 

Wooten  saw  his  answer  on  Jenifer's  face. 

"  Let  her  have  him;  and  take  the  woman  you  want." 

The  old  man  squared  his  shoulders.  His  hands 
were  on  his  hips ;  his  eyes  were  fiery.  "  Think  because 
you  marry  a  woman  once  you  got  to  hang  on  to  her  an' 
let  her  dog  the  life  out  o'  you,  an'  you  worry  hers  out 
o'  her.  Think  you  got  to  stay  with  her  day  in  an'  day 
out  ?  Got  to  stick  to  her  whether  you  want  to  or  not  ? 
You  make  yourself  miserable,  an'  her  miserable,  an' 
maybe  somebody  else,  too.  For  what  ?  " 

Jenifer  smiled  bitterly.  His  scorn  of  Grame  was  too 
deep  for  him  to  have  included  the  Englishman  in  his 
reckoning.  But  Alice!  As  he  felt,  with  that  agony 
riving  his  heart,  was  it  so  she  had  loved  the  man  ?  And 
might  her  step  not  have  been  taken  as  ignorantly  as  he 
had  trodden  his  own  way  of  passion  ?  But  his  common 
sense  beat  back.  He  knew  her  shallowness  and  that 
her  loves  were  material.  But  his  knowledge  had  dawned 


236  Jenifer 

too  late,  and  he  had  made  her  as  well  as  himself  pay 
the  price  of  his  ignorance. 

He  had  acted  masterfully  and  swiftly;  and  he  had 
kept  himself  to  the  thing  he  had  vowed.  Now,  doubt 
swept  him  like  a  tide.  He  had  seen  all  night,  through 
the  illuminating  flash  of  his  agony,  Alice's  frightened 
face,  or  the  tower  with  its  crown  of  fire,  or  the  black- 
ened house  with  smoke  drifting  about  its  fallen  chimneys. 

He  knew  he  loved  Ambler  beyond  his  dream  of  man's 
possible  passion;  he  had  put  away  his  wife,  yet  held 
her  to  the  bond,  her  and  himself;  and  Ambler  would 
marry  a  man  he  hated  because  that  man  dared  to  love 
her  and  was  free  when  he  himself  was  bound.  He  had 
overridden  all  other  intricacies  and  questioned  his  action 
in  none :  before  this,  Jenifer  was  helpless. 

"  Son,"  said  Wooten  steadily,  "  when  you  come  into 
the  Hollow  I  know  'twas  somethin'  behin'  pushin'  you : 
but  it  made  no  difference.  I  know  a  man  when  I  see 
him,  an'  I  knew  you  were  one.  Such  you  have  lived 
right  here.  But  now  —  "  The  old  man  stood  silent, 
and  there  was  something  stern  in  his  look. 

"  This  ain't  all.  Somethin'  else  is  twistin'  it  up;  an* 
you  done  tol'  enough  to  let  the  res'  follow.  'Tain't  no 
use  to  keep  things  hid  up  all  the  time.  You  done  kep' 
things  too  long  to  yourself.  You  been  goin'  too  long 
single-handed.  'Tain't  good  for  you." 

Jenifer's  silence  was  unbroken.  The  old  man  sat 
down  patiently  by  his  side. 

"  Thar  ain't  no  man  nor  woman  nor  chile  in  the 
Hollow  that  don't  like  to  see  you  goin'  up  an'  down 
the  ways;  an'  you  know,  an'  we  know,  how  you've 


Jenifer  237 

holp  when  you've  had  a  chance,  holp  mo'  than  you 
ought.  Now  "  —  the  prophet  blazing  up  within  him  — 
"  thar's  a  new  path.  Tain't  so  clear,"  with  fervid 
gaze  upward,  "  but  I  see  it.  Thar's  somethin'  waitin' 
for  you  to  do.  You  done  learned  your  lesson  here. 
Son,"  leaning  forward,  "  you  goin'  tell  me  the  thing 
that  brought  you  here;  an'  maybe  we'll  see  the  way 
that  takes  you  out.  Maybe!  I  don't  want  you  to  go. 
I  want  you  right  here.  But  now  —  'tis  time  to  speak." 

"  Speak !  "  In  the  primitiveness  of  each  nature  was 
the  strongest  bond  Jenifer  had  ever  known.  The  tense 
lines  of  Jenifer's  face  relaxed.  His  eyes  burned  into 
the  preacher's  face. 

He  began  slowly,  a  broken  word,  a  phrase,  a  sentence; 
they  ran  together,  were  continuous.  Long  pauses  were 
between  his  sentences.  Here  but  a  word  or  two  told  all 
he  meant  to  tell,  the  preacher's  fancy  filling  in  between. 

"  God !  "  said  Wooten  once. 

And  then  an  oath. 

"God-a-mighty!" 

Then  silence.  Jenifer  had  ended  and  Wooten  rose 
stiffly  to  his  feet. 

On  one  point  he  had  put  his  finger.  He  had  ques- 
tioned and  cross-questioned  the  manner  of  Jenifer's 
wealth-getting,  and  he  understood. 

"  Son,"  he  said,  swaying  upon  his  feet,  "  son  "  — 
his  scorn  was  magnificent  —  "I  never  stole." 


XXIII 

"  LORD  !  Whar  is  he  ?  'Tain't  a  night  and  day  since 
I  left  him,  an'  he  didn't  say  a  word  'bout  not  bein' 
here;  an'  now  he's  gone.  I  said  wrong.  I  done  said 
wrong.  I  done  egged  him  on;  an'  he  needed  to  be 
holp.  He  was  clean  down,  an'  I  —  I  tol'  the  truth; 
the  truth,"  the  old  man  defended  himself.  "  But  he's 
gone.  Didn't  say  a  word  to  you  ?  Didn't  leave  nc 
word  for  me  ?  Lan'  o'  Goshen,  Mary,  whar  do  you 
s'pose  he  is  ?  " 

Mary's  bonnet  had  fallen  back  from  her  head.  Her 
ruddy  hair  shone  in  the  red  light  of  the  setting  sun; 
and  the  wildness  in  Wooten's  eyes  was  reflected  in  her 
own.  He  had  seized  her  wrists  as  he  talked. 

"  Ain't  nothin'  gone  but  the  clothes  he  come  here  in, 
an'  his  hoss ;  but  that's  all  he  brought  with  him.  Gawd ! " 
Wooten  groaned,  "  Gawd-a-mighty !  Everything  jus' 
as  he  lef  it.  It  looks  like  he's  dead,  dead  an'  gone 
for  good.  Was  this  do'  open,  jus'  this  way  ?  " 

The  door  of  Jenifer's  cabin  swung  wide.  Yellow 
locust  leaves  blew  in  across  the  sill.  A  squirrel  ran  on 
the  roof,  and  chattered  angrily  at  the  man  and  woman 
in  the  little  clearing.  The  sun  was  below  the  peaks, 
and  the  green-lipped  Hollow  a  chalcedony  cup  filled 
to  its  brim  with  golden  vapor  for  the  drinking  of  the 
238 


Jenifer  239 

god  whose  gray  wings  trailed  slowly  across  the  high 
valleys. 

"  You  come  this  mornin'  ? "  Wooten  demanded. 

The  woman  nodded. 

"  Nobody  here  ?  " 

"  Jus'  like  this,"  Mary's  soft  voice  assured  him. 

"  An'  again  to-night  ?  " 

"  Again  to-night." 

"We  done  lost  him.  He's  come,  an*  he's  gone;  an* 
we  —  "  a  sudden  thrill  shook  the  old  man.  His  grasp 
on  Mary's  strong  wrists  tightened.  The  woman,  with 
lips  apart  and  head  flung  back,  listened. 

The  golden  sky  was  clear  from  peak  to  peak.  No 
feather  of  cloud  flecked  it.  The  wind  was  strong,  of 
the  north;  the  air  vibrant,  resonant.  A  whisper  stole 
down  the  gorge.  No  leaf  had  made  it;  nor  breath  of 
human  given  it  voice.  It  was  an  echo  of  a  song,  the 
strain  itself,  sweet  and  seizing  upon  the  heart.  Full 
and  clear  it  filled  the  Hollow  and  rippled  up  above  the 
mountain-tops  to  spill  its  melody  upon  the  hills. 

"  God ! "  whispered  Wooten,  the  sweat  thick  on 
his  forehead,  "  The  Voice;  'an  summah-time !  The 
Voice!  "  rigid  till  the  strain  died  away.  "  A  sign;  'tis 
a  sign ! "  He  flung  the  woman's  wrists  from  him. 
"  Preachin',"  cried  the  zealot,  "  thar'll  be  preachin'  on 
the  mountain  to-night.  Pass  the  word !  Pass  the  word !  " 
His  voice  rang  back  as  he  sprang  across  the  rocks  towards 
the  trail. 

The  woman  ran  fleet  as  a  deer  towards  her  cabin. 
In  a  moment  her  boy  sped  the  message  along  the  paths. 
Wooten  called  it  to  a  cabin;  its  inmates  to  another; 


240  Jenifer 

and  from  that  a  "  Ye-o  —  ho-e  —  ho !  "  rang  to  the  hut 
across  a  deep,  tree-shadowed  chasm. 

Torch-light  flared  up  beneath  the  still's  roof.  On  the 
planks  sat  awed  men  and  frightened  women.  Wooten's 
voice  rang  down  the  mountain's  side,  and  the  boulders 
flung  back  the  echoes  of  his  denunciations  against  sin, 
picturing  that  hell  which  yawns  for  sinners,  till  the  glare 
and  hiss  of  its  eternal  fires  seemed  but  beyond  the  wall 
of  friendly  darkness. 

Stealing,  the  preacher  shouted  about ;  and  the  sinewy, 
weather-worn  men  were  afraid  to  turn  face  to  face. 
One  remembered  the  rails  he  had  filched  to  build  his 
pen;  his  neighbor,  the  shoat  which  should  have  been 
in  some  man's  yard,  but  the  sweet  meat  of  which  was 
now  cooling  in  the  flow  of  his  own  spring;  and  in  the 
dusky  corner  the  man  who  shielded  his  eyes  with  hard- 
ened hand  saw  a  dewy  night,  young  slips  of  trees  in 
fresh,  red  earth,  and  himself  stealthily  loosening  the 
slender  roots  and  piling  higher  the  bundle.  The  fruit 
of  the  tree  by  his  door  was  suddenly  distasteful.  But 
these  trifles  were  between  neighbors.  It  was  not  of  these 
the  preacher  thought,  but  of  those  who  robbed  great 
things,  and  did  it  knowingly.  For  such  the  mountain 
had  its  own  law. 

Jenifer,  that  night,  sped  down  the  mountains.  A 
waved  lantern  had  flagged  a  fast  train  which  wound 
its  way  across  the  peaks  far  from  the  Hollow,  climbing 
and  doubling  on  its  way,  sailing  across  bridged  chasms 
and  rocky  runs,  down  towards  towns  and  cities  and 
spreading  fields;  and,  in  the  morning,  by  the  tide. 

Mists  clung  above  low  lands  and  wide  and  blue  a 


Jenifer  241 

river  ran  beyond  the  rails.  Tide-swept  marshes  crept 
to  the  road-bed,  and  at  blazing  noon  the  wide,  deep, 
salt  harbor  of  a  city  near  the  sea  lay  beneath  his  unseeing 
eyes. 

The  sun  still  shone  hot  and  dazzling  when  Jenifer 
swung  himself  up  the  dust  encrusted  steps  of  the  short, 
slow  train  which  clanked  its  way  through  the  Carolina 
woods.  The  conductor  was  not  the  man  he  had  known 
and  chaffed  at  the  road-crossing  by  the  swamp;  by 
chance  the  few  passengers  of  that  day  were  alike  strange, 
and,  as  they  gathered  on  the  friendly  seats  which  boxed 
the  empty  stove  in  the  first  compartment  of  the  coach, 
foregathering  with  one  another,  Jenifer  was  left  to  the 
rear,  which  was  arranged  in  ordinary  fashion,  and  to 
the  wooden  seats,  the  open  windows,  with  the  dust 
blowing  through,  and  to  the  dank  smell  of  the  swamps, 
the  clean  breath  of  the  pines,  and  the  first  glimpse  of 
the  cotton-fields. 

The  leaves  were  green  with  a  burst  of  white  here  and 
there  along  the  lines  of  husky  pods;  the  tall  corn  had 
tasselled,  and  the  ripple  of  its  ribbons  ran  to  the  line  of 
dusky  pines.  The  tobacco  was  gray-green  and  broad 
and  strong.  The  land  ran  level,  spread  like  a  die; 
live-oaks  grew  in  the  sand,  with  a  pale  gleam  of  mistle- 
toe between  lusty  leaves;  the  moss-covered  shingles  of 
an  old  church,  a  thicket  of  cedar  and  gall-berries,  —  then 
the  rails  were  lowered  for  the  track  to  spin  across  a 
wide  and  sandy  road.  Jenifer  swung  himself  from  the 
train  when  the  engine  wheels  ground  by  the  cypress- 
bowered  tank. 

The  store,  with  its  evening  shadows,  the  gin,  the 


242  Jenifer 

whitewashed  fences,  the  shining  oaks  about  the  house, 
the  long  white  way,  —  Jenifer  might  have  left  them 
yesterday.  But  across  the  track  was  change.  A  high 
paling  shut  in  a  wide  yard,  and  above  the  fencing  showed 
chimney  stacks.  As  Jenifer  stood  uncertain  where  first 
to  turn,  a  cart  whirled  from  the  gate,  and,  the  driver 
standing  straight,  but  swaying  to  the  cart's  lurch  like 
a  sailor  to  his  ship,  sped  up  the  road  in  a  cloud  of  golden 
dust.  Life  was  there,  and  Jenifer  crossed  to  seek  it. 

The  yard,  to  his  astonished  gaze,  showed  thick 
powdered  dust,  with  line  upon  line  of  cart-wheels  cut 
into  it.  The  building  was  large.  A  wide  porch  ran 
before  it.  Heavy  scales  were  on  the  porch,  and  sacks 
of  peanuts;  and,  by  them,  Mr.  Cross. 

He  was  weighing  the  sacks  carefully,  and  his  back 
was  towards  the  newcomer,  as  was  that  of  the  farmer 
who  watched  the  lines  upon  the  measuring-rod  as 
keenly  as  the  weigher. 

"  Fifty-six  pounds,"  Mr.  Cross  announced.  "  Three 
and  a  half  cents  a  pound;  that's  what  I  am  pay- 
ing." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  the  farmer  tersely.  But  Jenifer's 
step  sounded  on  the  porch.  Both  men  turned.  The 
sack  Mr.  Cross  had  lifted  rattled  on  the  scales.  "  Great 
Governors!"  he  cried;  "name  o'  wonder!  Jenifer!" 
He  sprang  towards  the  young  man,  and  Jenifer  grasped 
him  eagerly  by  the  hand. 

In  spite  of  the  purpose  to  whose  wished-for  swiftness 
of  fulfilment  the  speeding  train  was  like  a  becalmed 
ship,  Jenifer's  delight  was  keen  at  the  warmth  of  wel- 
come. His  tense  mouth  curved  with  sudden,  wistful 


Jenifer  243 

pleasure.  "  Didn't  look  for  me  ?  "  he  asked  boyishly. 
"  Didn't  hear  the  train  ?  " 

"  Lord,  no;  half  the  time  I  don't  know  when  it  comes 
or  goes.  But  now —  Here,  Dick,  weigh  up  for  yourself. 
Put  the  memorandum  here,"  throwing  a  small  book 
and  a  pencil  on  the  long  arm  of  the  scales.  "  Come  on 
in.  Now !  "  as  they  stood  in  the  big,  machinery  filled 
room,  and  the  two  men  fell  back  from  each  other, 
measuring  one  another  with  friendly  challenge. 

Jenifer,  raw  with  introspection,  flushed  hotly. 

Mr.  Cross  was  quick  to  see  it  and  relieved  the  tension. 
"  Well,  I  would  have  known  you  anywhere.  You  haven't 
changed  much.  Yes,  you  have,  too.  Thin  as  a  rail, 
and  —  Lord,  what  does  that  matter  ?  Glad  enough  to 
see  you  back.  You  were  long  enough  coming.  Lots 
of  change  here,  right  here."  There  was  an  awkwardness 
in  the  moment.  Jenifer  was  too  bent  on  his  purpose 
to  talk  easily  till  that  should  be  accomplished;  and 
Mr.  Cross's  mind  was  whirling  with  the  thoughts  which 
had  stolen  often  through  it  and  were  now  rushing  to  a 
swift  focus.  Neither,  for  all  their  sudden  flush  of 
pleasure,  knew  what  to  say.  "  Put  up  this  factory  since 
you  left." 

"  I  see." 

"  I  just  want  you  to  go  over  it.  You  are  going  to  stay 
for  awhile  ? " 

"I  —  If  you  will  have  me,"  with  sudden  change 
from  his  first  uncertainty,  a  change  caused  by  the  ex- 
pression on  his  listener's  face. 

Something  in  Jenifer's  steady  eyes  sent  a  thrill  of 
hope  along  Mr.  Cross's  nerves.  Long  ago  he  had  blamed 


244  Jenifer 

himself  for  th<  thing  he  had  allowed  the  boy  to  do. 
They  had  been  right,  both  of  them,  only  day  by  day 
he  had  seen  a  higher  way  and  its  possibilities  for  others : 
and  he  would  have  set  out  to  correct  what  he  now 
thought  wrong  had  he  not  dreaded  to  seek  Jenifer  out. 
Only  at  the  bank  was  there  news  of  the  young  man, 
and  that  brief  and  bare. 

"  When  did  you  start  this  ?  "  Jenifer  asked,  break- 
ing the  awkwardness. 

"  Last  year."  Mr.  Cross  clutched  at  the  chance  of 
talk.  "  Paying  well,  too.  All  the  farmers  about  here 
taking  to  raising  peanuts,  nothing  but  peanuts.  Come 
along;  let's  go  over  it;  or  stop,  right  here's  the  spot 
to  start  with."  The  place  was  filled  with  machinery, 
with  running  belts,  and  whirling  dust,  and  huge  hoppers 
on  the  floor.  "  See  these  hoppers,  that's  where  we 
begin.  Pour  the  nuts  right  in  here,  just  like  they  come 
out  of  the  sacks ;  they  are  full  now,  you  see;  and  then  — 
You'll  have  to  go  up  on  the  third  floor  to  see  the  next 
thing.  You're  not  afraid  of  dust  ?  " 

Jenifer's  short  laugh  was  so  clearly  one  of  amuse- 
ment that  Mr.  Cross  ran  up  the  steep  stair.  Cushions 
of  dust  on  the  rails  loosened  and  besprinkled  them. 
Their  steps  left  firm  print  on  the  gray-powdered  steps. 
The  air  from  floor  to  rafter  was  awhirl  with  dust  under 
the  sloping  roof,  and  the  windows  in  the  gables  were 
opened  wide. 

"  You  see  those  cylinders  ? "  One  after  another 
the  rolls  of  hollow  steel  glittered  down  the  room,  and 
the  mighty  belts  kept  them  whirling.  "  The  nuts  are 
inside  there,  the  nuts  poured  into  the  hoppers  below; 


Jenifer  245 

that  threshes  out  the  dirt,  and  fans  them  clean,  and 
sends  them  out  down  the  chutes  to  the  sorting-room. 
That's  the  greatest  place  in  the  building."  Mr.  Cross 
turned  as  if  to  go  there  at  once,  but  Jenifer  walked 
quickly  towards  the  wide  window,  and  stood  looking  out. 

"  Fine  view  of  the  country  from  here,"  said  Mr. 
Cross  behind  the  young  man's  sturdy  shoulder. 

"  Yes,"      answered     Jenifer    dreamily.        "  Many 
changes  ? "  he  asked  after  a  second's  silence. 

"Well,  we've  taken  to  raising  peanuts;  that's  about 
all." 

"  Harrell  still  living  here  ?  " 

A  quick  measuring  glance  from  Mr.  Cross,  and  again 
that  stir  of  hope.  "  Jack  ?  Yes." 

"  And  —  And  the  little  teacher  ?  "  Jenifer  stam- 
mered over  the  title;  but  pupil  and  patron  and  friend 
alike  had  used  it.  No  other  seemed  natural. 

"  Yes,"  slowly. 

"  They're  married,  I  suppose." 

"  No." 

"  Why  ?  "  sharply. 

"  Haven't  got  money  enough.  Takes  money  to  get 
married  as  well  as  for  anything  else." 

"  I  thought  you  said  the  farmers  were  doing  well," 
Jenifer  demanded. 

"  So  they  are,  some  of  them ;  Jack,  too,  fairly.  But 
he's  got  a  load  to  carry.  Two  cantankerous  women, 
and  Bess  —  " 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter  with  her  ? " 

"  No." 

"  She's  still  teaching  ?  " 


246  Jenifer 

"  Gave  it  up  long  ago.  Has  to  stay  at  home  with  her 
mother,  and  a  precious  hard  time  she  has  of  it,  too." 
Mr.  Cross  knew.  He  had  helped  all  he  dared  and  the 
store  ledger  showed  long  unbalanced  accounts.  "  Some 
things  seem  a  little  too  hard,"  he  added  sententiously, 
thinking  of  Harrell  with  his  handicap  of  querulous 
women-folk,  Bess  with  her  sick  mother;  and  poverty 
for  both,  while  the  laden  cars  came  day  by  day  out 
from  that  land  that  had  been  Harrell's  and  trailed 
their  way  across  the  low  fields.  Had  Jenifer  crossed 
the  older  man's  path  he  would  have  learned  his  thoughts, 
and  plainly;  but  though  lightning  quick  in  business 
affairs,  Mr.  Cross  willingly  awaited  a  slow  Providence 
in  finer  matters.  He  smiled  shrewdly  as  Jenifer  asked : 
"  Is  Harrell  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Never  anywhere  else,  unless  he  is  over  to 
see  Bess.  Come  on ;  want  to  see  the  sorting-room  ?  " 
Mr.  Cross  asked,  turning  abruptly. 

Jenifer  followed,  heeding  neither  step  nor  stair  nor 
room  filled  with  machinery.  At  the  end  of  it  Mr.  Cross 
opened  a  door.  The  room  beyond  was  crowded  with 
negro  men  and  women.  They  stood  in  straight  rows, 
and  beltings  ran  beneath  their  hands,  and  carried 
with  them  a  stream  of  peanuts.  The  black  deft  fingers 
tossed  here  the  dark  nuts  and  there  the  light,  and  left 
the  best;  so  sorting  them. 

"  That's  all,"  said  Mr.  Cross  shortly,  "  cleaning 
them,  sorting  them,  bagging  them;  that's  all  a  peanut 
factory  is  for.  Now  —  " 

Jenifer's  hand  was  on  Mr.  Cross's  shoulder.  He 
leaned  to  make  himself  heard.  "  I  am  going  away  foi 


Jenifer  247 

awhile.  I  shall  be  back  by  dark,"  and  before  Mr. 
Cross  could  say  a  word,  Jenifer  was  hurrying  down 
the  dusty  stairs.  But  the  older  man  smiled  as  he  turned 
to  watch  the  workers. 

Down  the  sandy  road,  where  the  smell  of  the  corn 
and  the  breath  of  the  great  swamp  were  in  the  air, 
Jenifer  strode.  His  wrestling  and  agony  had  ceased. 
He  felt  the  stealing  of  peace  into  his  heart,  and  though 
the  way  was  long,  the  weed-grown  fence  corners  seemed 
to  slip  past  him,  as  his  fancy  pictured,  in  the  sunlit 
road,  the  trooping  children,  the  shining  pails,  the  slender 
teacher,  and  Harrell  waiting  by  the  way.  How  had  he 
forgotten  ?  Why  had  he  been  so  long  in  seeing  ?  How 
had  he  lived  in  such  content  and  satisfaction  ? 

Here  were  Harrell's  fields.  There  was  no  plowman 
in  the  cotton  rows,  no  traveller  in  the  lane  nor  lounger 
in  the  far  yard;  but  down  between  the  pines  came  a 
man  with  slow  step  and  bent  head,  and  a  gun  tucked 
in  the  hollow  of  his  arm;  and  the  figure  seemed 
familiar. 

Jenifer  hurried.  "  Harrell !  "  he  shouted,  so  elated 
himself  that  he  did  not  think  of  what  the  other  might 
feel.  "Harrell!" 

Harrell  jerked  up  his  head,  bent  by  no  pleasant 
dream.  The  little  school-teacher's  mother  was  worse. 
She  could  eat  nothing  Bess  could  find  for  her;  and 
Harrell  had  shot  a  brace  of  young  squirrels  in  the  woods, 
and  carried  them  to  her.  He  had  been  thinking,  beneath 
the  pines,  of  Bessie's  face,  how  thin  the  cheek  was  and 
dark-circled  her  eyes.  Her  figure  had  drooped  listlessly 
against  the  gate  when  he  looked  back,  her  bonnet  had 


248  Jenifer 

slipped  from  her  sunny  hair,  but  there  was  no  sauciness 
about  her  red  mouth  nor  daring  in  her  eyes.  Things 
had  cut,  at  last,  too  deep. 

In  the  dusk  of  the  trees  Harrell  could  not  at  once 
distinguish  the  man  who  had  called  him.  Jenifer 
clasped  his  arm  impulsively  before  Harrell  knew  who  it 
was.  Then  a  flame  of  red  ran  up  his  worn  face. 
"  You !  "  he  cried.  "  You !  You  scoundrel !  " 

Jenifer  might  have  berated  himself  and  scorned 
himself,  but  that  name  he  had  not  deserved.  The  worst 
that  he  had  done  was  but  a  loose  acceptance  of  legal 
standards.  As  soon  as  he  saw  it  —  that  touch  of  super- 
stition in  the  gray  church  beneath  the  oaks  had  been 
forgotten  like  a  dream,  and  had  been  part  of  one  in  his 
hazy  memory  till  both  had  faded  —  as  soon  as  he  saw, 
his  attempt  to  act  was  instant. 

"  You  lie,"  he  cried  hoarsely. 

"I— I  —  "  Fury  choked  Harrell.  He  clutched 
his  gun  impotendy  in  his  rage;  then  remembered  that 
he  held  it.  The  barrel  was  at  Jenifer's  breast. 

Jenifer's  blow  was  like  a  flash,  but  it  did  not  fall 
before  Harrell's  finger  had  found  the  trigger,  and  as 
the  sharp  report  rang  out  Harrell  rolled  by  the  roadside. 

"  Lawd  1  Gawd  !  "  screamed  a  negro  running  through 
the  woods.  "  Marse  Har'll  done  shot !  "  He  sprang 
over  the  fence,  raced  down  the  road,  panting  his  cry, 
till  at  the  factory  gate  he  had  but  breath  to  repeat  it. 

"  Who  done  it  ?  "  The  crowd  jostled  him.  "  What's 
that  you  say  ?  "  "  Where's  Mr.  Cross."  "  Dead  ?  " 
"  Where's  the  man  ? "  the  clamor  broke  out.  There 
was  a  crowd  ready  to  hand.  The  factory  workers,  the 


Jenifer  249 

clerks,  a  belated  farmer,  a  man  they  overtook,  —  Mr. 
Cross  kept  his  place  in  front. 

"  If  I  had  told  him  —  If  I  had  kept  him !  I  knew 
how  Jack  felt.  I've  seen  it  growing.  He  was  fairly 
mad  over  it.  I  knew  he  had  no  good  blood  for  the  boy, 
and  I  let  Jenifer  go !  "  He  accused  himself  at  every 
step. 

"  I  knew  what  he  came  for,"  the  voice  within  him 
went  on.  "  I  knew  the  moment  I  set  eyes  on  his  face. 
I  knew  he  was  coming,  too,  some  day.  I've  been  a  fool. 
God,  there  he  is !  Stand  back !  Wait !  "  His  gesture 
commanded.  "  I'm  going  to  speak  to  him  first.  Wait ! 
You  hear  what  I  say."  And  Mr.  Cross  strode  forward. 

"Jenifer!" 

Jenifer  had  been  walking  slowly  and  easily.  His 
eyes  opened  wide  at  sight  of  the  crowd  and  sound  of 
Mr.  Cross's  cry. 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  he  asked  carelessly. 

"Hold  on  there!" 

"  What  else  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  do  ?  "  Jeni- 
fer's laugh  was  as  light-hearted  as  a  boy's. 

"  God,  man,  hush !  "  Mr.  Cross  shuddered  at  the 
sound. 

"  Hush  ?  For  what  ?  What's  the  matter  with  you 
anyway?  All  that  crowd,  and  —  " 

"Whar's  Harrell?" 

"Take  him!" 

The  crowd  surrounded  them,  a  ring  of  white  and 
black. 

"  String  him  up !  " 

"Wait  for  the  sheriff!" 


250  Jenifer 

"  Hands  off!  Keep  off,  I  say!  "  Mr.  Cross  slipped 
from  his  hip  pocket  his  own  pistol,  and  held  it  before 
him.  He  was  close  by  Jenifer's  side,  and  was  pulling 
at  him  with  his  free  arm,  backing  Jenifer  into  the 
shelter  of  a  fence  corner.  "  Get  out  your  gun,"  he 
whispered  to  Jenifer  hoarsely.  "  It's  your  life,  this 
time.  Tour  life!  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Whar's  Harrell  ?     Whar's  Harrell  ?  " 

Jenifer  began  to  understand  something  of  what  that 
yelping  crowd  meant;  but  he  was  as  calm  as  the  day 
which  neared  its  close.  "  Do  you  want  to  see  ? "  he 
asked. 

A  hush  fell  on  the  crowd,  a  touch  of  solemnity.  "  Do 
you  want  to  see  ?  "  he  repeated,  with  a  step  forward. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  Mr.  Cross  shouted,  but 
Jenifer  leaped  the  ditch.  Mr.  Cross  stood  again  by 
his  side. 

"  I'll  show  you,"  declared  Jenifer,  an  odd  smile 
twitching  at  his  lips,  a  smile  which  maddened  the 
crowd. 

"  No  foolishness."  Mr.  Cross  stood  between  Jenifer 
and  the  men  who  closed  up  to  him.  "  We'll  see  this 
thing  out,  but  mind  you  — "  He  caught  up  with 
Jenifer,  flung  his  arm  above  his  head  in  warning  — 
the  pistol  glinting  in  his  hand  —  and  again  caught 
Jenifer  by  the  arm. 

Jenifer's  head  was  high,  his  step  steady.  He  was 
no  more  afraid  than  when  he  sauntered  down  the 
empty  road.  He  passed  the  gate  to  Harrell's  place. 
The  pines  darkened  the  way.  The  negroes  huddled 
together  and  the  white  men  peered  fearfully  between 


Jenifer  251 

the  trees.  What  dread  thing  might  they  not  find? 
But  they  came  out  between  fields  where  the  light  of 
day  still  held,  where  fences  were  ill-kept  and  fields 
unplowed;  and  the  crowd  went  on,  awed  and  hushed. 
They  neared  her  house. 

Jenifer  walked  on  without  a  turn  of  his  head.  He 
did  not  glance  at  Mr.  Cross  lest  he  should  betray  him- 
self; for  first  he  had  been  furiously  angered,  and  now 
he  was  shaken  with  laughter  that  was  the  more  intense 
for  the  tragedy  that  dogged  his  heels. 

He  opened  the  gate,  where  the  mulberries  came  down 
like  guards  about  the  yard,  and  faced  the  crowd  across 
it  with  a  gesture  commanding  silence.  Then  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  he  pointed  across  the  yard. 

On  a  narrow  bench  between  two  trees  sat  a  man. 
His  back  was  towards  the  gate.  A  girl  was  by  his 
side,  and  his  arm  was  about  her  waist.  The  man  was 
Harrell. 

A  slow  breath  heaved  the  breasts  of  the  white  men; 
a  low  cry  ran  from  negro  to  negro:  then  suddenly  a 
cheer  echoed  to  the  house,  and  the  crowd  poured  across 
the  weed-grown  level.  But  Jenifer  stood  at  the  gate. 

"  Jack !  "  Mr.  Cross  had  gasped.  "  God !  Jenifer, 
why  didn't  you  speak  ?  What  did  you  do  ?  There  was 
something.  What  was  it  ?  " 

Jenifer  had  no  time  for  answer.  The  crowd  had 
closed  about  the  pair,  but  a  way  was  suddenly  made 
between  it.  A  slender  figure  came  flying  out  across 
the  grass  and  flung  herself  upon  Jenifer.  "  I  am  so 
glad,  so  happy !  "  Bess  cried,  her  head  upon  Jenifer's 
arm.  She  lifted  it  in  a  second,  slipped  her  brown  hands 


252  Jenifer 

up  to  Jenifer's  cheeks,  pulled  his  head  down  to  meet 
her  lips,  and  kissed  him  solemnly. 

"  There ! "  she  cried  springing  back  and  laughing 
wilfully.  "  There !  "  as  if  that  kiss  repaid  everything. 
"  Don't  say  a  word,"  she  said  with  imperious,  happy 
face,  turning  to  face  Harrell  and  those  who  had  caught 
up  with  him,  "  not  a  word !  " 

But  the  crowd  had  said  too  much  not  many  moments 
earlier:  and  there  could  be  no  feud  between  two  men 
who  looked  at  one  another  as  Harrell  and  Jenifer  did. 


XXIV 

"  JENIFER,  I  want  to  know  about  this  thing.  'Tain't 
worth  while  for  me  to  beat  about  the  bush  and  hint 
and  wait  to  see  if  you  are  going  to  tell  me.  I  want  to 
know." 

Mr.  Cross's  business  instincts  demanded  accurate 
renderings.  They  rejected  such  generalities  as  an  im- 
pulsive arm  on  a  young  man's  shoulder,  the  shout  of  a 
crowd  too  easily  led,  or  the  blurted  sentences  of  a  joy- 
drunk  man.  Besides,  he  had  let  Jenifer  go  too  unfriended 
before  and  he  would  make  no  such  blunder  again,  but 
first  he  wanted  to  know  where  Jenifer  stood. 

The  voices  of  the  last  of  the  store  crowd  sounded 
faint  from  the  road.  It  was  midnight,  but  the  loungers 
had  just  left.  They  had  pretended  that  the  whole  matter 
was  a  huge  jest.  Their  friendliness  to  Jenifer  had  been 
in  shame  of  their  suspicions ;  their  laughter  and  chaffing 
of  one  another  and  the  parts  they  had  played  was  the 
smoothing  of  an  affair  which  showed  an  ugly  side,  but 
would  go  down  in  their  chronicles  as  a  joke. 

"  Jack  was  some  mad  ?  "  questioned  the  older  man 
with  a  laugh. 

The  dark  hid  the  sudden  red  of  Jenifer's  face.  What 
had  happened  and  what  had  been  said  was  between 
Harrell  and  Jenifer  alone. 

253 


254  Jenifer 

"  Tried  to  shoot  you  ?  "    Mr.  Cross  insisted. 

"  You  see  I  am  safe." 

"  Some  foundation  for  that  darkey's  yarn ;  what  was 
it?" 

"  We  —  we  had  a  word  or  two,"  reluctantly. 

"  Scuffle  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  might  have  known  it.  I  was  a  fool  to  let  you 
start  off  without  warning  you.  Jack's  been  growing 
bitter.  Things  getting  harder,  and  his  mind  always  on 
that  money  you  had,  and  he  thinking  he  ought  to  have 
it,  or  part  of  it." 

"  He  could  have  had  it  all." 

"  Of  course,  if  he  had  known,  long  ago." 

"  To-day." 

"  What  ? " 

"  It  was  what  I  came  for  —  " 

"  You  were  a  long  time  about  it,"  dryly. 

"  If  you  thought  so,  if  you  thought  he  ought  to  have 
had  it  at  first  why  didn't  you  speak  then  ?  "  demanded 
Jenifer  in  sudden  heat. 

"  Because  most  likely  I  should  have  done  what  you 
did,  if  I  had  had  the  chance." 

"  What  changed  you  ?  You  are  ready  enough  to 
blame  me,"  Jenifer  persisted  angrily. 

"  Pshaw !  you  are  not  going  to  get  mad  now.  It's 
too  late.  Well,"  he  added  slowly,  "  I  suppose  it  was 
seeing  them,  seeing  Jack  and  Bess.  What's  Jack  going 
to  do?" 

"Get  married,"  tersely;  "in  a  month."  Jenifer 
remembered  how  Bess  had  drooped  against  Harrell's 


Jenifer  255 

shoulder,  how  the  wild  flower  bloom  had  blossomed 
on  her  cheek  and  the  long  lashes  curled  above  her  misty 
eyes,  when  Harrell,  without  a  question  to  her,  had  so 
announced  it. 

"  You  don't  say  ?  He's  losing  no  time  and  he's 
right.  Going  to  fix  up  the  place  and  live  there,  I  sup- 
pose ;  and  let  his  women-folks  go  off"  to  the  city.  They've 
been  crazy  about  it  for  I  don't  know  how  long.  Hope 
they'll  be  satisfied.  Jack  will  be,  I'll  be  bound."  Mr. 
Cross  sat  silent  for  a  moment.  A  mocking-bird  was 
singing  somewhere  in  the  swamp,  and  they  could  hear 
the  gurgle  of  the  water  about  the  cypress-knees. 

"  So  you  fixed  it  up,"  the  older  man  again  insisted, 
"  and  Bess  had  a  hand  in  it." 

"  He  left  it  to  her  to  decide." 

"  Hm !     And  when  you  started  along  back  —  " 

"  I  met  you." 

Mr.  Cross  laughed.  "  Sort  of  surprised,  weren't 
you?" 

"  I  think  it  was  the  other  way,  rather,"  declared 
Jenifer  dryly. 

"  I  should  say  so.  Well,  it  will  be  a  mighty  long  time 
before  we  forget  this  night.  Sleepy  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  am."  Mr.  Cross  stood  up,  and  stretched  his  arms 
lazily  above  his  head.  "  Come  on  to  the  house  and  go 
to  bed.  Lots  more  time  to  say  everything.  You  are 
going  to  stay  a  long  time  ? " 

"  Till  to-morrow,"  said  Jenifer  absently. 

"  To-morrow !  That's  nonsense.  You  are  not  going 
then." 


256  Jenifer 

"  I  must." 

"  What's  taking  you  ?  "  Mr.  Cross  pulled  himself 
up  abruptly.  He  remembered  with  dismay  chat  Jenifer 
had  not  spoken  a  word  of  himself  beyond  those  in 
connection  with  Harrell,  had  not  told  from  what  point 
he  had  come,  had  said  nothing  of  the  place  Mr.  Cross 
heard  he  had  bought,  or  of  anything  the  years  had 
brought  into  his  life.  Some  blunt  question  was  on  his 
lips,  but  it  remained  unspoken.  A  touch  of  sternness 
in  Jenifer  and  a  hint  of  suffering  forbade.  The  tall 
and  well-knit  man  with  his  sunburned  face  and  steady 
eyes  was  not  the  round,  good-natured  lad  who  had 
stood  behind  the  store's  wide  counter,  but  a  new  man 
to  be  reckoned  with.  "  You  mustn't  go  so  soon,"  said 
Mr.  Cross  lamely. 

"  I  must  catch  that  morning  train,"  Jenifer  declared. 
"  Same  hour  ?  " 

"  The  same."  Mr.  Cross  locked  the  door  behind  him, 
and  slipped  the  big  key  in  his  pocket;  and  the  two 
men  walked  slowly  by  the  whitewashed  palings  to  the 
wide  gate.  It  shut  behind  them,  and  the  smell  of  the 
cape-jessamine  from  the  narrow  flower  garden  blew 
out  beneath  the  trees. 

"  You  will  let  us  hear  from  you  ? "  asked  Mr.  Cross, 
as  he  felt  for  the  latch  of  the  green-painted  gate.  "  You 
are  not  going  off  as  you  did  before  ?  I  won't  have  it. 
Tisn't  right  to  drop  out  of  people's  sight  that  way." 

"  Don't  fear.  You  will  not  forget  me,"  said  Jenifer 
with  pretence  of  carelessness.  "  I'll  not  give  you  a 
chance.  But  I'll  have  to  get  up  early  for  that 
train." 


Jenifer  257 

"  You  haven't  forgotten  the  hour  ? "  Mr.  Cross 
asked  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  No.  I'll  be  ready; "  and  Jenifer's  door  closed 
behind  him. 

Earlier  that  night,  Jenifer  would  have  given  half  of 
the  fortune  left  to  him  for  silence  and  solitude.  Now 
the  energy  of  action  and  the  lassitude  following  accom- 
plishment and  the  demand  for  easy  friendliness  left 
him  spent.  He  undressed  slowly  and  flung  himself 
across  the  foot  of  the  bed,  gazing  out  at  the  blackness 
beneath  the  oaks. 

How  merciless  is  the  soul,  and  how  it  holds  to  account 
the  frail  flesh  that  shelters  it!  How,  in  weariness 
and  discouragement,  does  it  scourge  and  scorn  and  lash, 
perhaps,  to  higher  deeds!  Work  and  companionship 
and  clatter  and  sleep  may  hold  it  at  bay,  but  there  will 
come  a  time  of  silence,  an  hour  of  awakening  in  the 
night,  and  it  challenges  of  the  flesh :  "  What  hast  thou 
done  ?  Where  are  thy  ideals  ?  Thy  ambitions  ?  Where 
have  the  wings  of  flight  been  draggled.  Why  hast  thou 
folded  them  ?  Up !  Wilt  thou  walk  and  have  me  halt 
by  thee  ?  Shall  I  go  crippled  ?  " 

So  the  highest  calls  to  the  lowest  and  he  who  has 
learned  the  harmony  between  their  warfare  has  learned 
to  live.  For  Jenifer  the  way  had  been  hard.  His  very 
faculty  of  seeing  but  one  thing  at  a  time  worsted  him 
and  now  that  this  thing  had  been  accomplished  what 
lay  beyond  ? 

He  would  gladly  have  laid  down  the  possession  of 
the  Old  Place  and  all  that  stung  him  concerning  it. 
The  sum  he  had  set  aside  for  Alice  was  all  that  Jenifer 


258  Jenifer 

had  intended  to  stipulate  should  go  untouched.  That 
he  felt  he  might  rightfully  claim;  and  had  he  stripped 
himself,  as  he  had  intended,  Alice  would  still  have  been 
undisturbed.  For  himself  he  would  fight  out  his  fight,  — 
in  which  poverty  was  the  least  obstacle  —  there  in  the 
Hollow. 

What  had  his  money  brought  him  ?  Dazzling  as  its 
attainment  had  seemed,  what  did  he  care  for  it  now  ? 
Was  he  afraid  of  hard  living,  of  work  ?  He  laughed  to 
himself  at  the  thought,  there  in  the  fag-end  of  the  night. 
What  had  Wooten  said  ?  —  "  Son,  are  you  afeard  o'  bein' 
po*  ?  Here's  a  house  an*  Ian',  an'  both  are  yours.  I 
don't  want  'em.  One  home  is  all  I  can  live  in.  This 
is  yours.  An'  you  are  young  an'  strong;  an'  you  don't 
know  what's  in  store  for  you.  Maybe  it's  better  than 
you  think.  Don't  you  give  up." 

Should  he  go  back  to  the  cabin  ?  Was  there  not 
another  call  tugging  at  his  heart  ? 

The  dawn  showed  to  his  tired  eyes  a  clear  world. 
The  sky  grew  red  above  the  swamp,  the  tops  of  cypress 
and  gum  and  poplar  pricked  against  it.  The  smell  of 
the  jessamine  and  of  ripening  scuppernongs  and  the 
dank  odor  of  the  swamp  was  in  his  room.  With  the 
whispering  of  the  leaves  and  the  rustling  of  the  corn  in 
his  ears,  with  the  sight  of  the  silent  store  and  empty 
gin,  Jenifer  felt  as  if  some  part  of  him  had  gone  on  living 
amongst  them;  as  if  he  left  it  behind  when  the  train 
pulled  out  across  the  wide  white  road  and  Mr.  Cross, 
his  tanned  face  thoughtful,  turned  away;  when  the 
cotton-rows  sped  past  and  the  swamp  was  but  a  smudge 
upon  the  blue.  For  a  second  Jenifer  longed  to  live  it 


Jenifer  259 

out  there,  to  try  that  life  amongst  the  good-natured, 
easily  excited,  warm-hearted  folk  who  had  hated  and 
praised  him  in  an  hour. 

But  the  miles  were  behind  him.  The  thought  of  what 
he  should  do  next  pressed  closer.  As  lowlands  and 
reedy  creeks  and  flashing  whitecaps  sped  from  sight, 
perplexity  and  doubt  were  nearer.  Once,  when  the 
train  made  long  stop,  a  telephone  receiver  was  in  his 
hands.  After  this  desertion  and  silence  he  had  but  to 
call  up  The  Barracks  across  this  distance,  and  with 
but  one  moment's  wait  for  the  electric  flash  and  sum- 
mons, he  would  know  how  those  he  had  left  there  fared. 

But  he  was  not  yet  ready.  The  receiver  slipped  from 
his  hand  back  upon  its  metal  clasp :  and  far  up  on  the 
mountainside,  cold  in  the  late  summer's  night,  Jenifer 
swung  himself  from  the  coach,  found  Lightfoot,  and 
took  up  the  way  by  which  he  had  come.  It  was  dawn 
again  when  he  rode  up  the  trail. 

Cobwebs  were  on  the  high  grasses  and  between  the 
willow  branches,  and  across  his  door  a  film  from  side 
to  side.  Jenifer's  smile,  as  he  brushed  it  aside,  was 
bitter.  The  cabin  wore  so  soon  an  air  of  desertion.  It 
seemed  to  complain  that  the  breath  of  human  had  not 
been  drawn  within  it,  for  Wooten  had  but  wandered 
about  it,  Mary  came  only  to  the  door;  and  the  children 
peeped  shyly  through  its  windows. 

Jenifer  started  a  fire  in  the  small  stove  and  the  thick 
smoke  rolled  up  above  the  mud-daubed  chimney. 

Wooten  saw  it,  and  hurried  down  the  mountain, 
running  and  stumbling.  "  Lan',"  he  panted  at  the 
cabin  door,  "  Ian'  o'  Goshen,  is  that  you  ?  I  saw  that 


260  Jenifer 

smoke,  an'  I  jus'  put  out.  Son,"  —  his  heavy  hand  was 
on  Jenifer's  shoulder,  —  "  what  did  you  go  for  ?  " 

Jenifer  gazed  back  astounded.  After  that  stern  sen- 
tence one  thing  only  was  possible.  So  straight  had 
been  his  purpose  that  Jenifer  thought  that  the  old  man 
must  know. 

But  he  had  not;  and  Wooten  was  worn.  The  wild 
excitement  of  his  fiery  preaching  had  spent  his  strength, 
as  always.  The  lines  of  his  face  were  drawn,  as  Jenifer's 
had  been.  But  Jenifer  showed  now,  beyond  his  per- 
plexity, a  certain  high  steadfastness  the  old  man  had 
never  seen. 

Wooten's  hand  fell  from  Jenifer's  shoulder  to  the 
table  by  which  he  stood.  He  clutched  it,  and  steadied 
himself  by  it.  Jenifer's  shoulders  were  straight,  his 
head  high,  touching  the  sapling  rafters;  and  in  his 
eyes  was  a  quick  and  unexpected  sparkle  of  amusement. 

"  Well  ?  "  demanded  the  old  man. 

Jenifer's  smile  answered  him. 

"  Was  it  that  —  was  it  that  you  went  to  do  ?  God, 
an*  I  was  afeared !  " 


XXV 

WOOTEN  was  anxious  yet!  Jenifer  came  and  went 
for  a  day  or  two,  for  a  week.  His  old  silences  held  him. 
He  made  no  excuses  at  Briar  Park,  and  he  kept  clear 
of  the  house.  He  found  a  new  way  to  the  trail;  and 
the  yard,  the  apple-trees,  the  porch,  and  those  who 
might  be  found  there  were  beyond  his  ken. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Jenifer  to  leave  doubt,  or 
the  thing  he  hated,  or  that  which  brought  him  hourly 
difficulty  behind  him.  This  the  world  might  have  and 
that;  and  out  of  what  was  left  he  would  carve  content; 
but  he  had  come  now  where  his  scorn  of  perplexities 
would  not  serve.  They  must  be  mastered. 

The  battle  with  his  love  Jenifer  had  put  aside.  That 
was  something  held  yet  apart,  the  reckoning  with  which 
was  in  the  future;  but  beyond  that  he  was  filled  with 
doubts,  sometimes  with  longings. 

When  the  dawn  was  on  the  peaks,  and  Lightfoot 
picked  dainty  way  along  the  dewy  trail,  her  rider  saw, 
instead  of  the  way  which  dipped  between  heights  of 
green,  the  rosy  light  that  stole  between  the  hills  and 
swept  the  mists  flying  down  the  valleys.  When  he 
climbed  again,  with  Wooten,  perhaps,  trudging  by  his 
side,  he  heard,  instead  of  the  old  man's  drawling  talk 
of  the  Hollow,  Wheatham's  broken  monologues.  The 
261 


262  Jenifer 

Old  Place  drew  him,  and  beyond  it  loomed  another 
question  he  had  not  touched,  —  Alice. 

Alice  herself  had  at  first  been  distinctly  and  exuber- 
antly glad  of  her  freedom.  Leisure,  money,  the  sounds 
and  sights  of  the  street,  and  the  careless  attentions  of 
the  men  she  knew  sufficed.  Jenifer  had  gauged  her 
well.  Grame  was  forgotten;  Jenifer  was  feared  the 
more,  because  he  made  no  sign. 

When  the  gilt  began  to  wear  from  her  life  she  was 
scarcely  aware  of  its  dulling.  Men  who  were  at  first 
friendly  grew  tired  of  anomalous  attentions  to  one  who 
held  no  charm  to  attract  them  long.  The  younger 
sister,  now  grown,  was  resentful  of  one  who  had  leisure, 
who  was  better  gowned,  and  who  claimed  a  share  in 
visitors  and  pleasures  the  younger  thought  meant  for 
herself  alone.  The  mother,  used  to  sending  her  children 
forth  and  having  the  long  day  for  herself,  found  it  irk- 
some to  have  another  in  the  house  who  fretted  through 
the  hours  and  was  never  quite  at  ease.  And  Alice's 
money,  which  had  seemed  at  first  so  big  a  sum,  grew 
small  when  she  found  the  interest  of  it  was  but  an 
income  for  moderate  living. 

The  walls  of  her  mother's  house  were  narrow,  the 
rooms  dingy,  the  windows  were  slits  upon  the  street; 
and  Alice  had  known  the  hills.  She  had  hated  them; 
but  she  remembered. 

She  had  not  forgotten  that  the  house  which  crowned 
them  was  hers,  what  was  left  of  it;  the  house,  the 
quarters,  and  "  what  they  held."  She  was  ready  to 
flare  it  at  her  mother  when  necessary. 

A  trifle  precipitated  a  quarrel.    Alice  came  sparkling 


Jenifer  263 

down  the  narrow  stair  when  she  knew  a  caller  was  in 
the  small  parlor.  Her  mother  intercepted  her.  "  Alice !  " 
she  called. 

The  daughter  swept  into  the  room,  and  waited  im- 
patiently. 

"  That  man  down  stairs  came  to  see  Eugenia." 
The  mother  looked  Alice  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

"  What  if  he  did  ?" 

"  You  stay  here,  and  give  her  a  chance.  You  are 
forever  in  the  way  and  —  " 

"I!"  Alice's  fair  face  was  as  red  as  the  knot  of 
ribbon  she  had  fastened  in  her  hair.  "I  !  " 

"  Yes,  you.  You  seem  to  think  that  every  man  who 
shows  his  face  here  wants  to  see  you?  You've  had 
your  day,"  brutally. 

"  It's  a  —  a  —  "  She  would  have  flung  out  the 
vulgar  word,  but  anger  choked  her. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Eugenia  coldly.  They 
had  not  heard  the  front  door  close,  nor  the  sister  coming 
up  the  stair. 

"  Where's  George  ?  "  the  mother  demanded  quickly. 

"  Gone." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  He  only  came  to  see  if  I  could  go  to  the  theatre 
to-morrow  night.  What  are  you  all  dressed  up  for, 
Alice  ?  " 

"  She  was  coming  down  to  see  him."  The  mother's 
anger  flamed  up.  "  I  told  her  to  leave  you  alone." 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  she  would." 

"  You  do  ?  You  do  ?  I'll  leave  you  alone  —  for 
good  —  forever.  I've  got  a  home.  I'm  going  to  it." 


264  Jenifer 

"  I  wish  you  would !  "  The  mother's  tone  was  more 
devout  than  the  sister's  had  been. 

"  And  I'll  never  set  foot  here  again,  never." 

"  Won't  anybody  cry,"  vowed  Eugenia. 

"  You'll  never  have  a  chance  to  speak  to  me  so  again, 
I  tell  you.  You  —  " 

Alice  raced  up  to  her  dingy  room,  tore  off  her  clothes, 
tumbled  her  gaudy  dresses  from  drawer  and  press, 
and  before  she  had  drawn  breath  from  her  anger,  or 
knew  what  she  did,  she  sat  furious  and  straight  on  the 
cushioned  seat  of  a  car  which  sped  westward. 

She  had  telegraphed  for  a  carriage  to  meet  her;  and 
the  only  thing  she  knew  of  the  Old  Place  was  that 
Jenifer  was  not  there. 

Ben  met  her.  His  first  eager  question  was  for  "  Marse 
Jen'fah ; "  but  Alice  shook  her  head,  and  did  not 
open  her  lips  to  mention  his  name;  and  the  negro, 
after  the  first  babbling  of  excitement,  kept  a  pursed-up 
mouth.  But  for  her  "  Marse  Jen'fah  "  would  be  where 
Ben  longed  to  see  him;  and  all  the  way  the  negro's 
back  was  straight,  his  gaze  on  the  horses  and  the  road. 
He  scarcely  turned  his  head  at  Alice's  sharp  exclamation 
when  they  sped  around  the  curve,  beneath  the  trees, 
and  in  at  the  gate. 

The  lilacs  were  dusty,  the  locusts  filled  with  pods, 
the  grass  purpling,  a  late  rose  abloom,  and  the  house 
was  as  it  looked  the  day  she  had  first  seen  it,  —  roofed, 
its  chimneys  tall  and  square,  the  windows  opened,  the 
doors  swinging  wide.  And  Wheatham,  slender,  thin, 
and  worn  —  the  months  of  waiting  had  been  hard  — 
stood  on  the  stile. 


Jenifer  265 

Alice  carried  it  off  bravely.  She  had  come  home  for 
a  while.  The  wagons  must  be  sent  for  her  trunks. 
Was  everything  moving  aright.  Were  there  enough 
servants  for  the  house  ?  Must  any  orders  be  given  ? 

She  pretended  to  feel  no  surprise  at  the  rebuilt  house 
or  refurnished  rooms,  —  she  had  expected  to  shelter 
herself  in  one  of  the  quarters,  —  and  she  asked  no 
questions,  nor  did  Wheatham  deign  to  make  ex- 
planations. 

Instead  of  blackened  roof  and  shattered  windows 
and  ruined  house  the  sunlight  fell  on  the  brick  floor  of 
the  porch,  the  wind  blew  through  the  hall,  the  floors 
gleamed  as  she  passed,  the  red  mahogany  shone  darkly 
against  the  wall,  and  the  polished  stair  creaked  beneath 
her  tread.  It  stung  her  with  horror.  By  night,  with  no 
light  outside  but  far  white  stars  and  that  flaring  crown 
at  which  she  would  not  look  —  she  saw  Jenifer's  stern 
face  and  sombre  eyes  above  the  spiral  stair,  —  by  night, 
she  could  have  shrieked  for  fear. 

Wheatham  had  been  only  courteous.  He  had  lived 
for  two  things  during  those  months  which  had  left  a 
touch  of  gravity  upon  his  dreamy  humor;  and  these 
were  his  work,  now  famous,  and  the  rebuilding  of  the 
house  as  he  had  first  seen  it  standing  amidst  the  snows, 
strong  and  staunch,  tradition  and  history  behind  it 
and  demanding  of  the  future  happiness  and  full  life. 
He  would  see  no  such  vandal  ruin  as  it  had  shown  nor 
allow  any  such  waste  of  all  that  should  be  treasured. 
He  knew  that  Jenifer  would  return.  He  grew  to  look 
for  him  any  day;  and  he  had  pushed  the  work  madly 
to  have  it  finished  before  that  hour. 


266  Jenifer 

Alice  had  come,  but  Wheatham  left  her  to  herself. 

In  the  big  and  still  and  empty  house  the  woman  met 
her  past  at  every  step.  The  hedges  hinted  of  it;  the 
locusts  whispered  it;  the  winds  bemoaned  it. 

After  a  sleepless  night  in  which  she  had  listened  to 
the  loud  breathing  of  a  maid  in  the  small  room  which 
matched  the  bridal-chamber,  dawn  stole  through  the 
mountains.  Light  stands  for  hope,  for  delight  and 
gladsomeness,  and  the  woman  watching  it  had  never 
so  joyfully  hailed  it,  nor  known  so  deep  a  moment. 
Some  measuring  of  herself,  some  lifting  of  her  soul 
must  have  moved  her:  the  stile  and  its  memories  that 
morning  were  not  hateful;  nor  was  she  afraid  of  the 
place  of  graves. 

Something  in  the  air  intensified  her  mood,  a  languor 
of  heat  and  pulselessness  of  currents.  Thunder-heads 
rolled  in  the  zenith,  and  the  sun  was  scorching.  Alice, 
coming  slowly  in  from  the  porch,  looked  back  at  the  shin- 
ing clouds,  at  the  dark  roll  of  one  that  hung  straight 
overhead,  at  the  tall  gray  poles,  and  the  dazzling  line 
which  spun  from  the  old  place  out  to  all  the  surging 
world.  For  whom  cared  she  there  ?  For  whom  had 
she  a  word  ? 

The  bell  rang  in  the  hall  as  she  pondered  and  she 
moved  languidly  to  answer  it. 

"  Hello !  "  she  called  carelessly. 

"Yes!  Oh,  God!  Yes.  What?"  It  was  Jenifer's 
voice.  He  had  come  at  last  to  the  step  toward  which 
every  thought  had  been  leading,  and  from  a  distant  point 
had  called  up  "  home." 

Alice  heard  his  voice,  his  exclamation;    caught  the 


Jenifer  267 

sharp  rebound  of  feeling  in  his  voice.  "  It  is  I,"  she 
cried,  her  voice  stifled,  her  breath  choked.  "  I !  I  have 
come  home."  She  leaned  panting  against  the  wall,  the 
tube  still  at  her  ear,  and  over  the  wire  awful  silence. 
But  that  cloud  which  sailed  the  zenith  had  blackened. 
Its  folds  were  like  midnight,  its  edges  purpled;  and 
from  it  came  suddenly  one  roll  that  shook  the  hills,  the 
house  and  quarters ;  one  flash  —  along  the  wire. 

Clanging,  the  receiver  was  pulled  down  with  her. 
The  body  settled  along  the  wall.  Wheatham,  Ben, 
the  servants  rushing  into  the  hall  saw  a  straight,  white- 
gowned  figure  prone  on  the  polished  floor.  The  hand 
still  grasped  the  tube;  the  face  was  calm;  and  on  the 
temple  against  which  the  rubber  had  been  held  was  a 
blackened  mark. 

The  wild  clamor  of  it  had  carried  across  the  hills  to 
a  far  high  peak.  "  God ! "  cried  Jenifer  as  he  rushed 
from  the  little  station.  "  The  train!  Flag  it!  I  must 
catch  it.  Here  it  comes.  " 

"  See  to  my  horse,"  he  shouted  from  the  platform. 

Enter  the  coach  and  sit  down,  he  could  not.  It  swayed 
and  rocked  down  the  mountainside.  At  the  point 
nearest  his  home  he  swung  himself  off,  found  a  horse 
somewhere,  raced  on  and  on  along  the  rough  road. 
Yet  the  day  was  late,  and  the  dead  long  dead,  when 
he  stood  beside  her. 


XXVI 

LIFE  at  The  Barracks  had  been  long  unheeded  by 
its  neighbors.  Wheatham  had  been  anxious  only  for 
his  privacy,  Jenifer,  while  master,  content  with  his 
solitude  and  Alice  was  scornful.  It  was  current  in  the 
county  that  the  owners  of  the  Old  Place  were  again 
abroad.  The  artist,  who  knew  that  Jenifer  would 
return  with  deeper  insight  and  with  calmer  judgment 
to  lead  to  wiser  deeds,  kept  his  own  counsels,  and  Ben 
held  a  still  tongue. 

But  the  news  of  the  tragedy  flashed  from  house  to 
house.  Carriages  to  which  the  lane  had  been  long 
unknown  turned  in.  The  preacher,  the  politician, 
their  neighbors,  and  Mrs.  Moran  herself  followed  the 
solemn  train  along  the  garden  path,  and  in  through 
the  iron  gates;  nor  had  Mrs.  Moran  a  bitter  thought 
because  a  stranger  lay  there  by  those  she  loved. 

Her  eyes  were  wet  as  the  gate  of  the  garden  closed 
at  last  behind  them.  The  preacher  had  slipped  from 
his  place  amongst  the  slow-moving  men  and  women, 
who  wound  by  the  pillared  porch  and  across  the  stile 
to  the  carriages  which  waited  beneath  the  locusts;  and 
Mrs.  Moran  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  You  are  not  going  yet  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Not  yet." 


Jenifer  269 

"  I  must  see  him."  Mrs.  Moran  spoke  forcibly,  if 
low.  "  Who  has  seen  him  ?  Not  a  soul  but  those  in 
the  house  and  you.  Not  a  word  of  kindness  to  him. 
No,  I  am  going  to  stay.  I  will  not  let  him  feel  as  if  no 
one  cared  whether  —  whether  —  "  She  bit  her  lip, 
and  turned  quickly  away.  "  It  may  be  —  I  am  afraid  — 
Oh,  perhaps  I  have  made  a  mistake.  It  has  been 
wrong,  the  whole  wretched  thing  —  what  I  —  what 
all  of  us  have  done.  We  have  held  aloof,  but  now  —  " 
She  turned  towards  the  porch. 

The  preacher  was  by  her  side  and  his  kindly  gaze 
was  on  her  face. 

"  It  is  hard  sometimes  to  know  what  is  best  to  be 
done,"  said  Mrs.  Moran  brokenly.  "  But  there  has 
been  trouble  here,  hard  trouble,  and  we  might  have 
helped.  Oh,  don't  say  a  word.  I  blame  myself  enough. 
And  he  "  —  with  sudden  flash  of  admiration  —  "what 
do  you  think  he  has  been  doing?  Farming  Briar 
Park!" 

"  Briar  Park  ?  "  They  had  reached  the  porch.  Mrs. 
Moran's  team  waited  in  the  lane;  and  the  wheels  and 
tops  of  the  last  carriages  glittered  beyond  the  orchard. 

"  Ambler  Arronton,  you  know.  She  used  to  be  here 
often  when  she  was  —  oh,  a  baby.  You  remember 
her  ? "  Mrs.  Moran  spoke  nervously  and  quickly. 
"  No,  it  was  before  you  came  to  the  county.  They  were 
kin  to  the  people  here,  close  kin.  —  He  is  in  the  library," 
coming  close  and  whispering  earnestly.  "  Ask  Mr. 
Jenifer  if  he  will  not  speak  to  me;  I'll  wait  for  him 
here." 

"  Mr.  Jenifer,"  Mrs.  Moran  turned  at  the  sound  of 


270  Jenifer 

his  step.  She  held  out  both  hands  impulsively.  "  We 
are  so  distressed  —  so  grieved  for  —  for  you — your 
sorrow.  You  will  believe  it.  You  must  know  — " 
She  broke  off  suddenly.  Beneath  Jenifer's  still  face 
lay  such  tense  suffering.  If  she,  a  stranger,  had  blamed 
herself  for  lack  of  neighborliness,  for  what  had  Jenifer 
berated  himself? 

"  You  must  know  our  sympathy,"  she  assured  him 
breathlessly.  "  You  will  let  us  show  it.  You  will  stay 
on  now,  here,  at  home  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly,  and  then 
as  if  she  feared  what  the  answer  might  be,  "  We  shall 
not  again  lose  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  second  of  intense  silence.  The  preacher 
leaned  against  the  door,  smiling  softly  to  himself,  as 
he  remembered  a  sunny  noon,  the  trees  by  the  church 
door,  and  his  plea.  Wheatham,  at  the  library  window, 
where  he  had  heard,  stood  still  and  grave.  Ben,  in  the 
hall,  was  wide-mouthed. 

"  You  will  stay  ?  "  Mrs.  Moran  repeated. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Jenifer  simply.  He  saw  her  warm 
flush  of  friendliness,  but  she  did  not  hear  Wheatham's 
long  breath,  nor  see  Ben's  twisted,  hidden  face. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  Mrs.  Moran  said  quickly.  "  I 
stayed  because  I  couldn't  leave  without  seeing  you. 
Some  day  we  are  coming  again." 

From  the  carriage  she  leaned  to  say :  "  Mr.  Jenifer, 
I  used  to  love  this  old  place  more  than  any  in  the  world, 
excepting  my  own  home.  It  hurt  me  to  see  it  change 
hands.  I  believe  you  love  it  too,"  she  exclaimed  im- 
pulsively. "  I  know  what  you  have  done  for  it.  I  want 
to  see  more  done  and  see  you  do  it." 


Jenifer  271 

"  Ah,"  said  the  preacher  gently,  when  they  were 
far  down  the  lane,  "  we  can  neglect  no  tie  of  neighbor- 
liness  without  hurting  ourselves." 

Whereat  the  lady  flashed  a  glance  which  silenced 
him.  In  his  unworldly  way  the  preacher  was  yet 
shrewd.  He  knew  how  swiftly  Mrs.  Moran's  plastic 
mind  would  shape  her  account  of  those  she  had  left; 
and  how  her  skilful  tongue  would  repeat  the  story 
about  which  Jenifer  held  no  reticence,  and  which,  in 
the  excitement,  was  abroad;  how  each  fault  would  be 
condoned  and  every  good  extolled,  all  to  The  Barracks' 
gain. 

He  left  to  her  the  doing  of  it.  He  himself  saw  con- 
tinually the  face  of  the  man  they  had  left  standing  by 
the  stile.  More  was  written  there  than  sorrow  for  a 
woman  whose  life  had  never  matched  his  own,  more 
than  horror  or  remorse;  something  higher  and  stronger 
to  which  the  man  must  reverently  be  left. 

Those  of  Jenifer's  household  saw  it,  also.  The 
negro,  with  that  instinct  with  which  his  race  is  seldom 
credited,  but  which  many  of  them  often  possess,  went 
sadly  about  his  work.  He  would  have  liked  to  keep 
close  to  "  Marse  Jen'fah  "  every  moment.  Wheatham 
divined,  and  cursed  for  the  moment,  the  talent  which 
was  of  his  fingers,  and  not  of  his  tongue.  Such  talk 
as  he  could  think  of  was  purely  material. 

"  You  see  what  I  have  done,"  he  said,  when  days 
had  passed  since  that  slow  procession  had  wound  down 
the  paths.  "  Your  letter  —  the  one  you  left  —  gave  me 
absolute  charge.  The  income  of  the  place  was  at  my 
disposal  and  it  has  doubled.  It  is  a  fortune  in  itself, 


272  Jenifer 

with  the  impetus  you  have  given  it  —  Jenifer,  pos- 
sessions are  a  responsibility.  It  has  been  said  before, 
perhaps;  since  the  day  when  the  stewards  were  called 
to  give  account,  and  before  that  "  —  this  was  one  of 
Wheatham's  rare  references  to  Biblical  text,  and  he 
made  it  now  grimly.  "  As  long  as  this  place  is  in  your 
hands  you  owe  it  your  best.  I  could  not  see  it  as  you 
left  it,"  he  went  on  rapidly  and  without  a  tone  of  ac- 
cusation. "  I  knew  some  day  you  would  come,  and  in 
a  week  I  had  the  men  at  work.  In  three  months  it 
was  finished,  just  as  it  was  when  —  Jenifer."  Wheatham 
broke  off.  He  saw  for  a  moment  the  summer's  night, 
the  blossoming  lilacs,  the  dusky  shadows,  and  Jenifer's 
blithe  young  face;  and  felt  for  a  second  the  rapture  of 
that  living  whose  reflex  had  warmed  his  own  stiller 
nature. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come  back.  I  vowed  you  should 
find  it  as  it  had  been." 

Jenifer's  face  was  covered  with  his  hand.  He  groped 
with  the  other  across  the  table  where  Wheatham's  lay, 
and  grasped  it. 

"  And  I  wish  to  say  right  now,"  in  an  attempt  at 
levity  which  the  catch  in  his  voice  belied,  "  that  I  make 
you  no  offer  to  vacate,  as  I  did  before.  I  am  here  for 
keeps." 

"  Always,  Tom;  forever;  as  long  as  a  foot  of  it  is 
mine,  and  that  will  be  as  long  as  I  live,"  Jenifer  added 
with  grave  assurance. 

"  Please  God !  "  said  the  artist  lightly,  as  he  got  up, 
and  crossed  the  room.  "  Though  I'll  have  to  be  off 
sometimes.  There  are  some  sketches  of  the  sea  I  must 


Jenifer  273 

make.  I  have  forgotten  how  it  looks.  But  these  moun- 
tains — "  He  was  standing  by  the  window  gazing 
out. 

Jenifer  turned  to  look  at  him.  "  Forget  them  if 
you  can."  His  voice  as  he  spoke  was  easier,  and  his 
eyes  less  sombre. 

"  I  can't.  I  admit  it.  The  shackles  are  here." 
Wheatham  held  out  his  crossed  wrists  with  an  air  of 
mock  gravity. 

"  Here ! "  Jenifer  touched  his  breast  lightly  above 
his  heart. 

"  True."  Wheatham's  manner  won  to  his  old  care- 
less drollery.  "  I  own  it,"  he  declared,  as  he  came 
back  to  his  chair  by  the  empty  hearth. 

Jenifer  turned  in  his  seat  and  thrust  his  hands  into 
his  pockets.  His  long  limbs  were  straight  before  him 
and  his  face  was  sober  and  thoughtful.  So,  Wheatham 
had  often  watched  him. 

Jenifer  had  been  to  the  artist  something  like  the 
faces  which  formed  beneath  his  fingers,  —  first  a  blur, 
then  a  line,  a  suggestion,  and  last  a  clearing  and  strength- 
ening till  breath  of  life  was  there.  The  artist  had  seen 
the  man  grow,  and  now  his  face  was  past  the  whimsical 
reading. 

An  east  wind  was  beating  up  and  threshing  the  trees 
about  the  house.  Wheatham  shrugged  his  shoulders  at 
the  sound.  "  Lord,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  it  howls 
about  this  place !  " 

"  But  the  peaks,"  began  Jenifer  dreamily,  "  there 
you  are  in  the  midst  of  it.  Sometimes  — "  Jenifer 
pulled  himself  up.  He  had  been  about  to  tell  Wheatham 


274  Jenifer 

of  The  Voice,  and  he  could  not  speak  of  it.  Instead  — 
"You  must  come  up  to  the  Hollow." 

"  You  are  not  going  back  ?  " 

"  For  a  while." 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  To  finish  the  work  I  began  there,"  replied  Jenifer 
quietly. 

"  That's  foolishness;    clear  foolishness." 

"  No.  Tom,"  he  said  with  rapid  emphasis,  "  I've 
thought  it  out  —  what  I  must  do.  The  money  I  placed 
for  Alice,  I  shall  transfer  to  her  people  and  get  back 
the  deeds  to  this  place.  They'll  be  glad  enough.  I  — 
I  have  already  communicated  with  them,"  he  admitted 
stammeringly.  "  You  know  none  would  come  up  when 
they  heard.  I've  had  to  write  and  telephone,  you  know, 
and  that  is  settled.  But  I  must  go  back  to  The  Park 
for  awhile.  There  are  only  women  there,  and  no  one 
could  carry  the  work  ahead.  They  are  dependent  on 
me."  He  spoke  at  long  intervals,  but  clearly  and  suc- 
cinctly. "  And  when  I  have  finished  there,"  he  added 
with  a  sudden  smile,  "  I'm  coming  back  for  good; 
then  —  well,  hard  work,  I  suppose." 

"  Haven't  been  doing  anything  lately  ?  " 

"  Nothing  to  hurt." 

"  Hm !  That  looks  it,"  with  meaning  glance  at  the 
hand  Jenifer  had  drawn  from  his  pocket. 

Jenifer  flushed  as  he  thrust  it  back  again.  "  I  never 
could  be  satisfied  doing  nothing." 

"  No  ? "  with  teasing  inflection.  It  was  past  the 
hour  when  Wheatham  was  usually  abed.  He  got 
slowly  to  his  feet. 


Jenifer  275 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Wheatham.  Sit  down.  You  know 
why  —  why  I  went  away.  I  have  nothing  to  say  about 
that  night,  that  evening,  nothing.  You  know!  I  had 
thought  —  I  was  afraid  —  It  is  too  late  now,  —  and 
that  night  when  I  went  away  I  could  have  killed  him; 
her,  too.  It  was  the  only  thing  I  dared  trust  to, — 
distance  and  time  to  see  things  straight.  I  have  had  it. 

"  And  she  —  she  is  dead.  There  is  no  reckoning 
with  that  question,  as  I  was  coming  back  to  do,  when  — 
when  I  called  YOU,  I  thought.  God!  I  cannot  think 
of  it.  She  —  she  must  have  been  sorry;  she  must 
have!  —  Wheatham,  what  brought  her  back  that  day, 
that  very  day  ?  "  Jenifer  was  on  his  feet,  striding  up 
and  down  the  room,  talking  brokenly.  "  Yes,  I  know 
it  is  useless  to  think  of  it  now,"  he  rejoined  to  Wheatham's 
protest,  "  or  to  judge.  Useless !  " 

The  ring  of  his  step  and  the  howl  of  the  wind  echoed 
through  and  about  the  house,  while  Wheatham  stood 
dumb  and  helpless. 

"When  I  go  back  —  yes,  I  must;  but  I  shall  be 
back  and  forth,  getting  hold  of  things  here  and  seeing 
to  work  there.  It  can  easily  be  done." 

"  Put  some  one  in  your  place,"  urged  Wheatham. 

"  No,  she  —  "  unconscious  that  the  emphasis  brought 
a  sudden  illuminating  flash  in  Wheatham's  eyes,  "  she 
will  be  married  in  the  fall."  Wheatham  turned  away. 
"Then  they  can  do  as  they  please.  I  shall  have  finished." 

Wheatham  moved  awkwardly.  He  would  have  given 
anything  to  know  what  to  say:  and  he  could  not  think 
of  a  word,  except,  "  It's  getting  late." 

"  Going  now  ?  "  asked  Jenifer  absently. 


276  Jenifer 

"  Yes.  Want  me  to  stay  in  the  house  to-night  ?  " 
Wheatham  urged  eagerly. 

"  No;  no." 

"  Jenifer,  I  am  going  to  stay  right  here,"  he  declared 
suddenly.  "  Lord,  man,  you  look  as  if  your  eyes  were 
open  for  the  night,  and  with  this  wind !  It's  going  to 
rain  by  morning." 

But  Wheatham,  through  his  watchful  wakefulness  of 
that  night,  vowed  that  the  air  of  tragedy  lingered  too 
deep  and  that  the  next  day's  light  should  find  him 
avoiding  its  shadow. 

Ben  unconsciously  aided  him. 

The  morning  was  misty  and  the  sting  of  rain  was 
in  the  fitful  currents;  by  noon  it  poured  upon  the 
porch,  and  ran  along  the  roof,  and  hissed  upon  the 
logs  Ben  lighted  in  the  hearth. 

The  negro  had  been  delighted  with  the  chance  to 
linger  near  Jenifer.  He  pretended  great  solicitude  for 
the  fire. 

"  Dis  hyar  fiah  won't  buhn  nohow,"  he  said,  as  he 
stood  on  the  hearth  and  watched  the  slow  flames.  "  Ain't 
been  lighted  hyar  fer  so  long  dat  dat  chimbly  done 
choked  up  wid  damp.  An'  de  house  it  sho  is  been 
lookin'  lonesome.  Marse  Jen'fah,"  with  quick  look  out 
of  the  tail  of  his  eye  at  Jenifer  sitting  in  the  deep  window, 
"  Marse  Wheatham  say  you  gwine  stay  home  now, 
leas'  ways  after  awhile.  I  sho  is  glad.  I  been  nigh 
'pon  cuttin'  an'  runnin'  myself  befo'  dis.  I'd  'a'  gone," 
he  boasted  —  Ben  would  ne^er  have  left  without  Jeni- 
fer's word  —  "  hadn't  been  fer  Lady  Blue.  You  heard 
'bout  her?" 


Jenifer  277 

Jenifer  turned  his  head  quickly,  his  interest  at  once 
awakened.  "  No.  What  was  it  ?  " 

"Ain't  you  done  heard?  De-laws-a-mussy !  Why, 
she  took  it;  she  did  so;  dat  blue  ribbon!  Lawd,  ain't 
I  done  rode  her  at  de  show,  same  as  you  said  ?  Ain't 
dat  ribbon  a-wavin'  from  her  stall  ?  Come  'long,  Marse 
Jen'fah,  out  to  de  stables,  you  ain't  done  sot  foot  in  'em. 
I  wants  you  to  see.  Is  you  comin'  ?  " 

"  Sure."  Jenifer  sprang  up,  picked  up  a  cap  from 
the  table  in  the  hall,  and  strode  across  the  red 
paths,  the  rain  beating  on  him  and  on  Ben's  shining 
face. 

"  Jes  look  at  her,"  cried  Ben,  as  Jenifer  ran  his 
hand  down  the  horse's  satiny  flank,  his  keen  eye  noting 
every  point.  "  Ain't  she  a  beauty  ?  " 

"  She  is  that,"  declared  Jenifer,  with  a  sudden  spark 
of  enthusiasm. 

"  An'  dyar's  mo'  like  her  comin'  on.  But  I  wants 
to  tell  you  'bout  her,  'bout  dat  ribbon.  I  rid  her  myse'f," 
grinning  with  delight,  "  'deed  I  did.  I  had  to  do  some 
tall  ol'  trainin'  to  git  down  to  de  mark.  I  starve  myself 
twell  I  wa'n't  nothin'  but  skin  an'  bones,  but  I'd  rid 
her  in  dem,  jes  in  de  bones,  to  'a'  seed  dat  day.  De 
carriages,  an'  de  ladies  in  'em  —  Em !  an'  de  stan' 
same  like  a  swarm  of  butterflies.  An'  Lady  Blue 
a-prancin  'roun',  an'  me  —  I  wo'  de  blue,  too.  You 
didn't  say  nothin  'bout  de  colors  an'  I  thought  dat 
would  do.  Dat's  de  Barracks'  colors,  I  done  sot  'em; 
blue  wid  a  tetch  o'  red. 

"  An  de  men  a-sayin'  '  Whose  hoss  dat  ? '  An  I 
was  jes  as  up'ty.  '  'Tis  Marse  Jen'fah's  hoss  Lady 


278  Jenifer 

Blue,'  says  I ;  an'  I  gin  her  pedigree  slick.  I  was  ready 
for  'em. 

"  An  dey  say  'Fus*  entry  from  de  Barracks,'  an'  look 
sort  o'  sober  lak."  Ben  saw  Jenifer's  wince.  "  'Case 
dey  don't  know  what  she  gwine  do,  you  see;  didn't 
know  nothin'  'bout  de  hosses  on  dis  place.  I  guess  dey 
knows  now,"  unctuously. 

"  I  jes  bet  ebry  las'  cent  I  had  on  her,  on  me  an* 
Lady  Blue.  Marse  Wheatham  put  it  up  fer  me;  an' 
we  made  a  heap  o'  money  dat  day,  we  an'  Marse  Tom 
did.  Den  las'  fall  we  carried  a  string  of  colts  off  to 
New  York,  an'  sol'  'em  ebry  one;  dat  we  did.  Tell 
you  what,  Marse  Jen'fah,  dis  place  it  beats  creation. 
Don't  you  nebbah  leab  it  no  mo'.  Dis  fall  I  'spec' 
you'll  go  'long  wid  de  hosses,  too,"  with  sudden  slyness. 
"  Yes,  you  will.  Dyar's  one  Ise  trainin'  now  dat  beats 
de  bunch.  Jump !  Marse  Jen'fah,  I  tell  you  de  truth, 
dat  colt  could  jump  de  moon,  an'  gib  de  ol'  cow  p'ints 
on  how  to  do  it." 

Ben  was  so  pleased  at  his  wit  and  at  Jenifer's  laugh, 
which  rang  to  the  rafters,  that  he  had  not  a  word  more 
to  say. 


XXVII 

"  SON,  you  certainly  can  make  good  coffee,"  Wooten 
vowed.  "  Gimme  another  cup."  A  fire  crackled  in 
the  small  stove  in  the  lean-to.  Th»  coffee-pot  on  the 
hearth  was  close  by  Jenifer's  elbow.  "  An*  these  bis- 
cuits 1  Ain't  nobody  can  cook  like  Mary." 

"  I'm  goin'  huntin'  to-day,"  he  said  after  a  long 
pause,  "  and  if  thar's  any  squirrels  —  Well,  barbecued 
for  me.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  There's  nobody  to  fix  them." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  in  sudden  surprise.  "  Whar's 
Mary  ?  " 

"  Sick." 

'  You  don't  say.      I  saw  her  yestiddy." 

"  She  has  just  been  keeping  up." 

"  Lan'  !  "  The  old  man  leaned  his  elbow  on  the 
table  and  looked  out  through  the  narrow  window  along 
the  path  beneath  the  willows.  Yellow  leaves  blew  along 
it,  and  drifted  across  the  lush  grass  and  about  the  door. 
Copper  and  gold,  oak  and  chestnut  leaves  sifted  slowly 
down  the  mountainside.  A  faint  feather  of  smoke 
curled  above  the  chimney  beyond  the  thicket.  "  You 
don't  say  so,"  he  repeated  helplessly. 

Jenifer  shot  a  keen  glance  at  the  old  man  before  he 
spoke.      "  She  has  too  much  to  do." 
279 


280  Jenifer 

"  That's  so." 

"The  girl  has  been  sick  all  summer  —  " 

"  I  know." 

"  And  now  the  boy  has  hurt  his  foot  —  " 

"Sam  hurt!     How?" 

"  Cutting  wood,  up  on  the  mountain." 

Jenifer,  as  he  ate  his  meal,  watched  Wooten  keenly 
across  the  small  table. 

"  Wonder  if  she  would  like  me  to  do  anything  for  her  ?  " 
asked  Wooten  slowly. 

"  You  might  try." 

Wooten  ran  his  sinewy  hand  from  his  neck  up  through 
his  hair,  standing  it  straight  upon  his  head.  "  She  done 
run  me  away  once." 

"  Well  ?  "  Jenifer  was  smoothing  the  honey  upon  his 
biscuit.  He  dared  not  look  up. 

"  I  tol'  her  she  was  shut  o'  me  for  good.  I  never 
was  goin'  to  come  back." 

"  Who  said  anything  about  your  going  back  to  her  ? 
She  wouldn't  have  you  if  you  did." 

"  No." 

"  And  you  couldn't  if  she  were  willing." 

"  What's  to  hinder  ?  "  sharply. 

Jenifer  did  not  answer.  He  knew  he  must  soon  leave 
the  Hollow,  and  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  leaving 
Wooten  alone  in  that  far  cabin.  He  was  aware  of  the 
old  man's  soft  heart,  but  there  was  something  fiery 
about  the  preacher,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  hedge  in 
talking  of  his  affairs. 

"  Those  other  women  —  you  think  they  stand  in  the 
way?" 


Jenifer  281 

Jenifer's  lids  were  lowered;  his  lips  still  and  firm. 

"  Shucks !      They  don't  count  at  all." 

There  was  the  slightest  quiver  about  Jenifer's  mouth, 
and  his  face  was  again  sober. 

"They!  I  jus'  took  up  with  them;  an'  I  did  the 
very  bes'  fer  'em  I  could,  long  as  we  'greed  together. 
But  Mary  —  I  'member  to-day  the  time  we  was  married." 

"  You  were  married  to  her  ?  "  The  old  man  did  not 
see  the  quick  gleam  in  Jenifer's  eyes.  He  did  not  even 
notice  the  question. 

"  We  walked  down  the  mountain  an'  clean  across  to 
Hillsboro.  An'  the  birds  were  singing  all  along  the  way 
back,  an'  the  flowers  a-bloomin'.  When  she  got  can- 
tankerous —  " 

"  When  you  began  to  behave  as  you  did." 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  You  told  me."  Jenifer  leaned  his  elbows  on  the 
table  and  looked  squarely  across  at  the  old  man.  "  You 
said  she  couldn't  stand  you." 

"  You  needn't  be  flinging  it  up  at  me,"  Wooten 
growled. 

"  You  needn't  hold  it  against  her.    You  deserved  it." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  Wooten  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  It's  the  truth.  You  know  it.  You  needn't  blame 
her  for  it,"  Jenifer  answered  calmly. 

"  So  I  don't;  so  I  don't.  I  never  did.  But  I  was 
'bleeged  to  have  somebody.  Mary  knew  it." 

Jenifer  passed  his  hand  quickly  across  his  face  hiding 
his  smile.  There  was  too  much  at  stake  to  show  amuse- 
ment at  the  old  man's  speech;  and  Jenifer  was  careful. 
"  You  might  see  if  she  wants  anything,"  he  began 


282  Jenifer 

slowly.  "  I  met  her  yesterday  coming  down  the  moun- 
tain with  her  arms  filled  with  wood.  She  was  so  weak 
she  could  hardly  carry  it  a  step."  Jenifer  did  not 
tell  that  he  had  taken  it  from  her,  carried  it  to  her 
door,  and  had  added  enough  to  it  to  last  her  cabin 
a  week. 

"  I  mought  venture  to  the  do',"  admitted  the  old 
man.  Then  with  sudden  change  of  topic :  "  Come 
'long,  son;  it's  gettin'  late.  You  ain't  so  pyeart  'bout 
yo'  work  as  you  used  to  be." 

"  Not  much  to  do,"  declared  Jenifer  quickly. 

"That's  so;  it's  gettin'  'long  late  in  the  fall.  An' 
then  — "  but  he  cut  his  foreboding  short,  and,  with  head 
held  high  and  a  firm  step  he  tramped  down  the  Hollow 
by  Jenifer's  side. 

Jenifer,  with  his  hand  on  Lightfoot's  rippling  mane, 
was  grave  and  silent.  He  had  said  all  he  dared  and  he 
would  not  spoil  with  careless  talk  the  thought  he  wished 
to  leave  in  the  old  man's  mind.  The  early  light  was  red 
across  the  hills  as  the  winding  way  disclosed  them, 
then  shut  them  out;  up  to  the  clear  sky  ran  copper  and 
gold  and  red;  about  the  rocks  were  crimson  vines; 
Jerusalem  apples  were  mellowing  in  the  sered  grasses; 
and  the  drifting  and  sifting  and  blowing  of  leaves 
mingled  softly  with  the  rushing  of  the  stream. 

The  trail  widened.  The  peaks  swept  back.  "  Son," 
cried  Wooten  suddenly,  "what  am  I  going  to  do  — 
Lord,  what  am  I  going  to  do  here  this  winter,  by 
myself?" 

"  Better  go  home  with  me,"  urged  Jenifer  quickly 
and  warmly. 


Jenifer  283 

"  Go  home  with  you,  to  that  great  place  they  tell  me 
you've  got  —  Not  that  that  makes  any  difference," 
seeing  Jenifer's  deep  flush,  "  but  how  could  I  go,  go 
'way  from  here  ?  What  would  I  do  anywhar  else  ?  " 
The  old  man  threw  back  his  head,  and  his  fiery  gaze 
was  from  purple  peak  to  purple  peak  that  rimmed  the 
Hollow.  "  Good  Ian' !  mought  as  well  try  to  pull  a 
squirrel  out  o'  his  wintah  hoi'  as  me  out  o'  this.  No, 
sah;  here  I  was  born,  an'  here  I  b'long.  I'd  be  no 
good  'tall  nowhar  else.  But  son,  —  "  as  Jenifer  stood 
silent,  his  arm  on  Lightfoot's  neck,  "  'tis  time  you  was 
goin'.  I  don't  mean  for  good,  'way  from  here;  I  know 
that  time's  boun'  to  come.  I  done  tol'  you  long  ago. 
But  I  will  —  " 

Jenifer  could  stand  the  old  man's  misery  no  longer. 
He  thought  he  knew  the  way  it  should  be  alleviated, 
but  the  means  were  not  in  his  hands,  and  he  had  said 
all  that  he  dared.  He  sprang  on  Lightfoot's  back. 
"  Good-by,"  he  called. 

Jenifer  had  been  back  in  the  Hollow  for  a  month. 
He  had  taken  up  the  threads  of  his  work  grimly  and 
he  had  added  to  his  memories  of  Briar  Park  one  he 
would  gladly  have  forgotten :  — 

It  was  the  day  after  his  return.  Jenifer  was  at  work 
in  the  stable  yard,  watching  the  big  wagon  being  loaded 
with  sacks  of  wheat.  The  sun  blazed  on  the  yard. 
Thin  clouds  trailed  across  the  peaks.  The  barn  shut 
out  the  sight  of  hill  and  road;  and  Lightfoot's  stall 
was  empty.  Ambler  had  ridden  her  out  to  the  store. 

Suddenly,  as  the  wagon  pulled  out  the  gate,  he  heard 
the  race  of  Lightfoot's  run  in  the  lane;  and  Ambler 


284  Jenifer 

sprang  from  the  saddle  at  the  gate,  and  walked  straight 
across  to  him.  Her  head  was  high,  her  red  mouth  firm, 
and  her  eyes  bright  with  anger. 

"  Mr.  Jenifer,"  Jenifer  started  at  the  name,  "  I  would 
like  to  see  you  a  moment  when  you  have  time." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  now,"  answered  Jenifer  calmly. 

Ambler  gave  one  impatient  glance  about  the  yard: 
Joshua  was  at  work  there,  and  the  old  negro's  curiosity 
was  unbounded.  "  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  —  "  she 
began. 

"  I  will  go  up  to  the  house  with  you." 

Jenifer  opened  the  big  gate  gravely,  and  kept  pace 
with  her  hasty  steps.  His  quick  look  showed  him 
Ambler's  flushed  cheek  and  sparkling  eyes.  The  wind 
had  tossed  the  loose  tendrils  of  her  hair  about  her  cap. 
Her  dark  skirt,  gathered  carelessly  high  on  one  side 
and  flung  across  her  arm,  trailed  the  red  dust  on  the 
other  side.  Her  nervous  fingers  bent  the  switch  she 
carried  till  it  snapped,  and  she  flung  it  angrily  away. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  best  go  this  way,"  she  said  haughtily, 
striking  into  the  path  that  bordered  the  wing  and  led  to 
the  side  of  the  old  garden.  "  It  is  cool  here."  Ambler 
knew  that  Miss  Molly  was  sound  asleep  and  the  place 
secluded. 

She  looked  up  steadily.  "  I  wish  to  tell  you,  Mr. 
Jenifer,  that  I  am  ready  to  release  you  from  your 
contract." 

The  use  of  his  name  had  told  Jenifer  that  she  knew 
and  her  tone  told  what  she  thought.  "  It  takes  two  to 
make  a  contract,  Miss  Ambler,"  he  said  coldly. 

"You  mean  —  " 


Jenifer  285 

"  It  must  be  broken  by  consent  of  both." 

"  Well,  I  am  ready." 

"  I  am  not." 

"  I  don't  see  why  —  Oh,  why  didn't  you  tell  us  ? 
To  come  back  from  all  that  awful  —  awful  sorrow,  and 
to  say  not  a  word,"  she  clasped  her  hands  impulsively. 
"  You  know  our  sympathy,"  she  cried  brokenly,  "  mine 
and  Aunt  Molly's  when  she  —  when  she  hears  ? ' ' 

In  her  excitement  Ambler  scarcely  heard  Jenifer's 
stifled  words.  "  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
have  come  back  at  all.  We  could  have  managed.  It 
was  dreadful  to  think  you  had  to  do  it.  And  —  and 
we  thank  you  for  all  you  have  done  this  year.  But 
there  is  no  reason  for  your  staying  longer." 

"  I  shall  be  gone  soon  enough." 

"  Your  contract  holds  for  three  months  longer.  I 
shall  not  keep  you  to  it  for  a  day.  We  do  not  want  the 
owner  of  The  Barracks  to  farm  our  little  place." 

"  Have  I  done  it  so  badly  ?  "  asked  Jenifer  gently. 

"  You  know  what  you  have  done.  You  know  how 
you  found  it,  and  how  it  is  now.  And,"  with  sudden 
heat,  "  you  know  why  you  did  it.  But  it  was  not  fair 
to  leave  us  to  think  — "  Ambler  turned  away.  It 
hurt,  that  imposition,  and  blinded  her.  When  she 
thought  of  that,  she  was  furious,  but  when  she  thought 
of  Jenifer,  as  the  letter  she  had  that  morning  received 
spoke  of  him,  she  was  heart-broken  with  sympathy. 

It  had  been  in  Briar  Park's  mail,  a  strange  hand, 
addressed  to  her;  and  it  had  said :  "  My  dear,  of  course 
I  know  you  and  you  know  me,  —  and  if  you  have 
forgotten  Miss  Molly  can  enlighten  you,  —  though  I 


286  Jenifer 

have  not  seen  you  since  you  were  a  little  thing  playing 
about  The  Barracks.  You  knew  it  was  sold.  Maybe 
you  heard  who  bought  it.  But,  child,  the  man  who  owns 
it  disappeared  more  than  a  year  ago,  I'll  tell  you  why 
further  on,  and  where  do  you  think  he  has  been  ?  — 
right  there  at  Briar  Park." 

It  could  not  have  been  put  in  a  way  to  hurt  Ambler 
worse.  The  road  had  blackened  before  her  when  she 
read  and  the  reins  fell  on  Lightfoot's  neck.  The  girl 
crumpled  the  sheets  so  fiercely  that  her  shaking  fingers 
must  smooth  and  resmooth  them  before  she  could  finish 
reading  the  letter.  That  it  lauded  Jenifer,  praised 
every  deed,  awoke  for  him  every  sympathy  made  it  but 
harder.  The  letter  ended  with  the  privilege,  generations 
old,  of  claiming  the  family's  friendship  and  was  signed 
"  Anna  Moran." 

No  speed  of  Lightfoot's  had  been  swift  enough  to 
carry  Ambler  home. 

"  I  know  the  place  —  The  Barracks  —  "  she  began 
again  and  brokenly.  The  look  of  Ambler's  face  with 
its  uncertainty,  its  sorrow,  and  vexation  was  so  childish  — 
Jenifer's  lips  were  firm  and  his  hands  clenched  in  the 
loose  pockets  of  his  coat. 

"  Our  other  tenant  was  not  so  particular,"  she  avowed, 
clutching  at  another  line  of  thought. 

"  A  reason  why  I  should  hold  the  faster  to  my  bond." 
Jenifer  smiled  faintly. 

"There  is  no  bond,  Mr.  Jenifer."  Ambler  spoke 
soberly  and  with  more  self-control.  "  I  annul  it.  You 
see — "with  the  manner  of  one  ready  to  argue  out  a 
matter,  "  I  have  followed  closely  what  you  have  done. 


Jenifer  287 

Much  of  it  was  what  I  would  have  liked  to  try  myself. 
I  know  how  to  go  ahead  and  I  always  wanted  to  control 
the  farm,"  she  added  wilfully. 

"  You  couldn't  do  it,"  declared  Jenifer  sententiously. 

"  I  could,"  with  a  determined  tilt  of  her  dimpled  chin. 

Jenifer  smiled  at  the  gesture  of  defiance. 

"  I  am  going  to  try  anyhow,"  a  smile  hovered  about 
the  red  mouth,  "  until  —  until  —  " 

"  Until  when  ?  "  hoarsely. 

Ambler  stood  rigid.  Her  eyes  were  tense.  She  moved 
as  if  to  speak,  then  restrained  her  words.  "  Perhaps  it 
might  be  best  to  look  out  for  some  one  for  next  year," 
she  at  last  added. 

"  It  might,"  said  Jenifer  bitterly.  "  There  will  be 
no  one  in  the  house,  I  suppose." 

"  The  land  will  be  here."  The  sudden  red  swept 
Ambler's  face  as  she  ran  up  the  steps. 


XXVIII 

JENIFER  was  not  aware  that,  as  the  days  wore  on, 
Aunt  Molly  transferred  him  to  the  pedestal  from  which 
Ambler  had  tumbled.  She  must  have  a  hero  or  heroine 
upon  it,  for  her  incense  of  romance;  and  Ambler  had 
bitterly  disappointed  her. 

Aunt  Molly  remembered  the  night  the  girl's  unrest 
began,  the  night  when  Jenifer  had  questioned  Ambler 
under  the  laden  apple-boughs.  She  knew  the  day  not 
long  after  when  the  young  man  on  whom  she  and  Joshua 
were  building  rode  angrily  away.  She  could  trace  the 
quarrel,  but  find  no  cause;  nor  could  she  say  a  word  to 
Ambler.  The  summer  had  opened  the  way  to  a  life 
Aunt  Molly  had  sighed  for;  and  found  distinctly  trying. 
There  was  company  in  the  house,  there  were  visits 
abroad,  house  parties  and  fox-hunts,  and  Ambler 
feverishly  pursuing  all.  Aunt  Molly,  in  her  wake, 
would  at  any  hour  have  given  up  the  round  for  Briar 
Park  and  the  shadowed  porch  and  the  low  rocker  and 
the  well-worn  book.  But  with  those  she  had  sighed 
for  this;  and  her  own  hand  had  opened  the  way  which 
Ambler  trod  too  gaily. 

Joshua,  left  at  home,  grew  glum.  He  had  closed  the 
gate  after  that  furious  young  man  who  rode  down  the 
road  with  never  a  backward  glance.  He  had  seen 
"  Miss  Amblah  "  cross  the  yard  with  chin  in  air;  and 


Jenifer  289 

he  could  have  foretold  what  would  follow,  all  but 
Ambler's  sudden  popularity,  and  her  pursuit  of  it. 

He  had  been  distracted  by  the  girl  before,  but  this 
anxiety  cut  deeper;  it  was  too  keen  to  be  borne  alone. 

"  Miss  Molly,"  he  ventured,  when  he  saw  her  one 
day  alone  in  the  yard,  strolling  peacefully  under  the 
trees,  her  dress  ankle-high  in  front  and  trailing  far 
behind,  "  Miss  Molly  —  "  in  a  tone  of  fear  and  misery, 
"  does  you  think  it  runs  in  famblies  that  —  that  ol' 
maids  might  ebbah  git  'tagious  lak  ?  " 

"  Old  maids !  "  Miss  Molly  repeated.  "  Old  maids  \ 
What  do  I  know  of  them  ?  There  was  never  one  in  our 
family,"  she  vowed;  and  then  turned  hot  from  head  to 
foot,  remembering  her  own  spinster  condition. 

The  tension  grew  greater  at  Briar  Park,  and  Jenifer's 
natural  impatience  waxed  with  it.  He  was  beset  by 
his  temptation  to  cut  hard  things  short  and  leave  them 
behind.  The  days  dragged,  yet  something  beyond  his 
determination  held  him. 

With  every  shortening  day  he  expected  to  hear  the 
notice  of  Ambler's  marriage;  still  there  was  no  hint  of 
it.  And  every  day  Jenifer  found  Wooten  somewhere 
along  the  trail.  The  old  man  seemed  to  be  counting  the 
days,  and  missing  none  of  them.  Jenifer  had  grown  so 
sure  of  him  that  when  one  late  evening,  —  the  stars 
above  the  peaks  and  the  frost  gathering  on  the  withered 
grass,  —  he  missed  him  all  along  the  way  and  found  his 
own  cabin  empty  and  fireless,  he  climbed  to  the  far  hut 
as  soon  as  Lightfoot's  bridle  had  been  loosed. 

The  door  of  the  hut  was  shut.     Jenifer's  eyes,  close 


290  Jenifer 

against  the  small  window,  saw  only  darkness.  His 
restless  steps  gained  him  no  knowledge;  but  when  he 
again  approached  his  own  cabin  a  square  of  light  blazed 
out  across  the  clearing.  The  old  man  was  waiting  by 
the  hearth. 

"  Lan',  I  was  wonderin'  whar  you  were,"  Wooten 
began  sheepishly.  "  I  been  so  busy  all  day  'twan't  no 
time  lef  to  come  down  to  meet  you.  Been  fixin'  things," 
quickly,  "  an'  movin'  a  few."  The  old  man  laughed 
awkwardly;  but  Jenifer  would  not  help  him  out.  He 
stood  on  the  rough  hearth,  towering  far  above  the 
mantel-shelf,  his  eyes  dark  with  delight. 

Wooten  wriggled  in  the  hickory  chair.  "  Well,"  he 
declared,  grinning  broadly,  "  Mary,  she  done  took  me 
back." 

"Yes,"  after  he'd  laughed  and  talked  and  boasted, 
and  taken  out  his  pipe  and  sent  a  whiff  of  smoke  up  to 
the  rafters,  "  I  done  tol'  her  I'd  never  have  lef  her 
myself.  She  sont  me  away.  An'  it  did  me  good.  Leas'- 
ways,  I  s'pose  so.  I  ain't  never  tetched  a  drop  since, 
none  to  hurt,  you  know.  I  ain't  countin'  a  little  now  an' 
then.  An'  I  have  lifted  my  voice  against  it  on  the 
mountain  an'  showed  to  others  the  error  of  their  ways"  — 
a  sudden  touch  of  his  preacher  exaltation  and  a  tone  of 
its  high  singsong  in  his  voice  —  "  an'  I've  kep'  myself 
straight.  I  ain't  been  so  tarnation  lazy  as  I  was.  I 
worked  for  —  for  'em  both,  long  as  I  had  'em;  an'  no 
man  could  do  mo'.  But  it  certainly  does  feel  good  to  be 
home  again,  down  thar."  He  stretched  his  feet  out 
contentedly.  "  That  Sam !  he's  jus'  as  sassy !  I  always 
did  have  a  likin'  for  him." 


Jenifer  291 

But  with  all  the  old  man's  ramblings  he  never  told 
how  he  and  Mary  made  up,  what  he  had  said  or  she 
replied,  or  on  what  basis  he  had  concluded  that  she 
still  belonged  to  him  and  had  persuaded  her  to  that 
faith.  That  was  of  the  mountain,  where  they  had  that 
morning  met,  she  with  her  arms  piled  high  with  rotted 
branches,  he  with  his  gun  in  the  hollow  of  his 
arm. 

When  Mary  had  looked  at  him  with  her  brown  eyes, 
"Jus'  like  a  deer,  when  it's  a-peepin'  through  the  leaves," 
and  her  soft,  wrinkled  cheek  had  paled,  Wooten  had 
spoken  and  Mary  listened.  The  old  man  had  taken  up 
his  abode  in  the  cabin  which  he  had  first  built. 

"  She'll  never  get  shet  o'  me  no  mo',"  he  vowed,  and 
kept  his  word.  "  Ain't  nothin'  like  your  own  home," 
he  added,  "  an'  somebody  you  wants  in  it,  somebody 
you  wants  bad."  Wooten  threw  back  his  head  to  give 
Jenifer  a  searching  look,  but  the  young  man  had  so 
utterly  forgotten  himself  and  listened  to  the  rhapsody 
with  such  delight,  that  the  hint  was  lost. 

Jenifer  had  not  been  able  to  bear  the  thought  that  the 
old  man  should  be  left,  as  Jenifer  feared  he  might  be, 
to  his  childish  loneliness.  Now  he  would  not  be  alone, 
and  Jenifer  felt  his  ties  to  the  Hollow  loosen. 

His  work  at  Briar  Park  was  less  binding  —  "  the  res' 
time  o'  the  year  "  —  and  he  was  oftener  far  across  the 
hills  at  The  Barracks.  His  masterful  hands  regrasped 
every  detail  of  that  life.  He  was  in  touch  again  with 
every  neglected  point  of  business,  and  he  forged  to  a 
place  amongst  his  fellows  he  had  never  thought  of  nor 
expected. 


292  Jenifer 

What  the  neighbors  had  themselves  seen  of  Jenifer, 
what  they  had  heard,  and  this  last  capstone,  the  com- 
pletion of  what  he  had  undertaken  at  Briar  Park,  touched 
the  fancy  of  a  romance  loving  people.  The  preacher 
watched  the  wave  of  sympathy  with  warm  heart:  the 
politician  turned  it  to  his  own  account. 

It  so  happened  that  a  certain  office  in  the  district 
was  vacant.  Two  men,  both  of  the  dominant  party, 
sought  it.  The  politician  wanted  neither.  His  word, 
also,  would  decide  it;  and  he  wished  for  no  such  enemy 
as  the  rejected  man  would  make.  He  was  thinking  of 
it,  desperate  of  the  solution,  when  he  rode,  one  winter's 
day,  by  the  lane  which  wound  from  The  Barracks. 
Riding  down  it  came  Jenifer  with  Wooten  by  his  side. 
Jenifer  had  persuaded  the  old  man  off  with  him. 

The  politician  drew  rein,  and  the  three  rode  abreast 
down  the  hard  red  road. 

"  How  are  things  up  your  way  ?  "  the  politician  asked 
of  Wooten.  "  Going  to  turn  out  a  pretty  good  vote 
this  election  ?  " 

"  Every  las'  man,"  answered  Wooten  carelessly. 
The  politician  was  silent  as  they  rode  down  the  hill 
and  up.    "  Who  are  you  going  to  vote  for  ?  "  he  asked 
abruptly  when  they  turned  the  top  of  the  next. 

Wooten's  laugh  was  shrewd,  and  the  politician  knew 
what  it  meant.  He  must  first  show  his  own  hand,  and 
it  suited  him  neither  to  show  two  aces  of  the  same  suit 
nor  an  empty  palm.  "Hm!"  was  all  he  said.  The 
clear  stinging  air  and  hard  road  and  beat  of  the 
horse's  hoofs  were  enough  without  speech,  which  came 
at  long  intervals. 


Jenifer  293 

The  politician  gave  up  the  puzzle.  "  Coming  home 
soon  ?  "  he  turned  to  ask  Jenifer. 

Lightfoot  shied  foolishly  at  some  object  in  the  road, 
and  Jenifer  nodded  an  answer;  but  his  lithe  figure,  his 
voice  as  he  stroked  his  horse's  neck  and  soothed  her, 
his  air  of  strength  and  alertness,  caught  the  politician's 
eye,  as  it  had  done  before;  and  he  glanced  from 
him  to  Wooten.  The  old  man's  gaze  was  ador- 
ing. 

"  Gad ! "  cried  the  politician  to  himself,  though 
he  laughed  aloud,  "  there's  the  man !  "  With  Wooten, 
and  behind  him  the  mountain  folk  who  were  linked  to 
Jenifer  by  his  service,  with  the  county  still  afire  with 
his  tale,  to  mass  dramatically  the  vote  on  Jenifer  would 
be  easy;  and  the  politician  knew  that  the  man  was 
capable  of  the  duty. 

The  thing  was  that  day  hatched.  If  the  politician 
ruled  the  hills,  Wooten  ruled  the  peaks;  it  was  only 
necessary  to  gain  Jenifer's  consent. 

"  The  people  of  The  Barracks,  sir,  are  not  used  to 
being  idle  in  public  affairs."  —  Did  not  Jenifer  know  it  ? 
Had  not  the  knowledge  cut  deep  ?  —  "  They  are  accus- 
tomed to  being  not  only  active,  but  leaders,  sir,  leaders !  " 
The  politician  pulled  himself  up.  He  lauded  his  office 
too  highly.  "  This  is  a  small  opportunity,  but  it  is  a 
beginning,  and  "  —  his  voice  kindling  —  "  we  shall 
expect  great  things  of  you." 

The  politician  knew  —  and  Jenifer  no  less  —  that  the 
great  things  Jenifer  might  do  would  be  material  and 
not  visionary;  that  the  future  opened  to  him  was  of 
broad  and  helpful  citizenship  and  that  his  work  would  be 


294  Jenifer 

executive,  and  not  exclamatory.    It  suited  the  politician 
the  better. 

"  Fact  is  we  need  such  men  as  you,  men  with  practical 
knowledge  and  experience  —  " 

The  flattery  rolled  unheeded.  Jenifer  was  thinking 
of  that  first  sentence.  He  knew  well  the  part  the  men  of 
The  Barracks  had  played.  He  was  coming  back  to  the 
Old  Place  with  deeper  insight,  wider  purpose,  and  more 
humility,  not  with  careless  self-satisfaction.  He  already 
felt  the  ripple  of  feeling  that  ran  out  to  him. 
He  bent  his  head  in  thought  as  he  rode  while  the 
others  eagerly  beat  out  the  matter,  and  planned  it 
joyously  between  them.  Jenifer's  thoughts  drifted  far 
away. 

Two  days  before  he  had  met  Ambler  on  a  path  of  the 
farm.  She  had  come  to  passing  him  with  few  words; 
but  this  time  she  stopped. 

"  Mr.  Jenifer,"  she  had  said,  "  I  have  engaged  a 
man  for  next  year.  He  is  coming  over  to  see  you  soon. 
I  thought,  perhaps,  you  would  be  willing  to  talk  with 
him  of  what  had  best  be  done." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to." 

Ambler  had  thanked  him  and  passed  on. 

"  Miss  Ambler,"  Jenifer  overtook  her,  "  the  fall  is 
nearly  gone.  " 

"  Yes,"  not  understanding  him.  "  I  know.  That 
is  why  I  want  the  man  to  see  you.  You  will  soon  be 
going." 

"  In  about  a  week." 

"  So  soon !  "  There  was  a  frown  between  Ambler's 
dark  brows. 


Jenifer  295 

"  I  had  thought  —  I  had  feared  —  I  heard  —  You 
will  not  be  married  before  Christmas  ?  "  he  blurted. 

"  No."  She  spoke  shortly  and  hurried  her  steps, 
but  Jenifer  kept  by  her  side. 

"  At  all  ?  "  he  insisted,  with  a  sudden  fierce  catching 
at  his  breath. 

"  No !  "  She  turned  into  a  narrow  path,  and  with  an 
imperious  gesture  forbade  him  to  follow  her. 

Jenifer's  blood  pounded  in  his  veins  as  he  remembered. 
Along  the  long  road,  that  night  when  they  stopped, 
along  the  higher  ways  next  day,  he  saw  her  face, — 
neither  sky  that  brushed  the  hills,  nor  peaks  which 
swept  against  it,  nor  high  red  levels,  nor  bare  and  hazy 
woods,  —  only  Ambler's  face,  dimpled  of  chin,  red  of 
mouth,  broad  of  forehead;  the  dark  eyes  laughing, 
shining,  cold,  proud,  friendly;  —  nothing  beyond  that, 
now  that  he  could,  at  last,  remember. 

They  climbed  higher.  Peaks  rose  straight  and  sheer 
before  them  and  swept  apart  to  show  the  way  into  their 
heart;  the  road  narrowed  to  a  trail  and  the  bare  boughs 
of  apple-trees,  the  russet  oaks,  the  time- stained  house 
were  behind.  Wooten  saw  Jenifer's  long  turned  head 
and  searching  gaze. 

The  old  man  was  shrewd  and  not  a  word  of  the 
young  woman  at  Briar  Park  had  he  spoken  till  now: 
"  That  sassy  thing  didn't  get  married  this  fall.  Put  it 
off?" 

"  No." 

"  Sent  that  fellow  'long  'bout  his  business  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

Wooten  looked  down  at  the  hard  red  earth,  and  then 


296  Jenifer 

again  at  Jenifer.  Something  in  the  young  man's  eyes, 
some  look  of  long  waiting  and  hungry  impatience 
smote  him.  The  old  man  drew  rein. 

"  Son,"  said  he,  "  'tis  nigh  to  Christmas  " 

"  Two  days." 

"  I've  heard  tell  a  curious  thing  'bout  Christmas 
eve."  Jenifer  turned  in  his  saddle  with  his  hand  on 
the  horse's  back  and  his  gaze,  across  Wooten's  shoulder, 
still  on  the  house,  its  empty  porch  and  closed  door. 

"  They  tell  me,"  Wooten  went  on,  "  that  if  a  man 
goes  out  at  Christmas  eve,  an'  Stan's  under  the  apple- 
trees,  —  apple-trees,  mind  you,  —  an*  looks  straight  up 
to  the  sky,  he  sees  it  open,  an'  looks  right  into  Paradise, 
an'  sees  the  angels."  It  was  a  legend  of  the  Hollow. 
Wooten  did  not  know  that  it  was  a  twisted  tradition  of 
the  Hessians. 

"  Son,  'tis  nigh  enough  to  the  time  not  to  count. 
Thar's  your  trail  to  Paradise,  an'  thar  "  —  as  Ambler 
came  out  on  the  porch  — "  thar's  your  angel."  He 
laughed  softly  as  he  struck  his  horse  a  sharp  cut  and 
the  beast  leaped  forward.  But  scarcely  a  yard  ahead 
he  flung  the  horse  upon  his  haunches. 

A  resonant  thrill  was  in  the  air.  Across  the  peaks 
beat  a  mighty  surge.  It  sang  too  high  and  strong  for 
sorrow.  Hope  and  triumph  were  in  its  strain.  Wooten 
flung  back  his  head  to  listen,  and  then,  with  a  wild  wave 
of  his  hand  above  his  head,  gave  his  horse  rein  and 
sprang  up  the  trail. 

Jenifer  was  out  of  his  saddle.  He  strode  under  the 
trees,  hearing  nothing,  knowing  only  that  he  was  near 
Ambler,  that  he  should  speak,  demand  an  answer  of 


Jenifer  297 

her,  demand  herself.  He  had  been  a  sturdy  friend. 
He  would  be  no  gentle  wooer. 

"  Ambler,"  she  had  crossed  the  stream  and  they  met 
under  the  trees.  Nothing  but  the  screen  of  the  bare 
apple-boughs  was  between  them  and  the  heavens. 

"  Listen !  "  the  girl  cried  with  head  thrown  back,  her 
eyes  wide  open,  and  her  face  white  and  awed.  "  The 
Voice !  "  That  had  drawn  her.  To  that  she  had  been 
listening.  She  had  not  noticed  how  Jenifer  had  spoken 
her  name.  "  You  hear  it  ?  "  turning  slowly  to  the 
sound. 

"  I  hear  it."  He  caught  both  of  her  hands  in  his. 
"  It  says  — '  The  gates  of  heaven  are  open.'  That  is 
the  strain  of  its  music."  His  arms  were  close  about  her. 
"  Beyond  the  apple-boughs,  looking  up  "  —  he  looked 
down  at  her  shy,  frightened,  half-hidden  face  —  "one 
sees  —  Paradise.  God !  I've  waited  for  mine.  I'll 
wait  no  longer.  Ambler,  that  other  man,  he  is  forgotten  ? 
Long  ago  ? " 

"  Long  ago,"  she  breathed. 

"  You  love  me  ?  "  he  demanded. 

But  the  wonder  of  itl  This  mastery  from  the  man 
who  had  stood  so  long  aside  and  gone  on  his  quiet  way, 
while  she  — 

"  You  love  me  ?  "     Jenifer's  voice  was  hoarse. 

"  Yes,"  faint  as  the  voice  that  died  amongst  the 
peaks,  and  as  sweet. 

"  You  are  mine.  I  shall  not  leave  you.  You  will  go 
with  me  when  I  go." 

The  night  wind  blew  her  hair  across  his  eyes.  The 
new  moon  swung  up  beyond  the  mountains,  but  not  so 


298  Jenifer 

fair  upon  the  purpled  heavens  as  was  her  arm  about 
his  neck.  The  breath  of  the  wind  stole  pasts  but  not  so 
faint  as  the  breath  of  her  red  lips.  The  last  crimson 
flared  across  the  west,  but  not  so  red  as  flamed  her  cheek 
when  his  lips  pressed  hot  against  her  own.  The  last 
strain  of  The  Voice  swelled  back  again.  It  was  the  voice 
of  joy. 


THE   END. 


A  Love  Story  of  the  University 

A  GIEL  OF  VIRGINIA 

By  LUCY  MEACHAM  THRUSTON 

Illustrated.     12mo.    $1.50 

A  delightful  present-day  romance,  with  its  scenes  located 
in  the  Old  Dominion  State.  "  One  could  scarcely  find  a  more 
delightful  heroine  than  the  pretty  daughter  of  a  professor 
of  the  University  of  Virginia,  Frances  Holloway,  who  is 
the  same  lovable,  high-spirited  young  woman  one  so  often 
meets  in  real  life,  but  for  some  reason  or  other  so  seldom  in 
stories,"  says  the  St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat.  "  The  best  story 
of  college  life  from  the  townspeople's  point  of  view  that 
has  been  written  in  a  long  time." 

"Not  too  light  nor  yet  too  tragic  —  with  a  wholesome 
out-of-door  flavor,"  says  the  Boston  Journal,  while  the  New 
York  Commercial  Advertiser  says  "the  author  has  given  us 
a  picture  of  modern  girlhood  that  goes  straight  to  the  heart 
and  stays  there." 

By  the  same  Author 

MISTRESS  BRENT 

A  Story  of  Lord  Baltimore's  Colony  in  1638 
Illustrated.     12mo.    $1.50 

The  story  is  an  interesting  study  of  the  life  of  the  col- 
onists, and  has  seldom  been  excelled  as  a  picture  of  early 
Maryland's  history.  —  Baltimore  News. 

No  more  able  or  remarkable  woman  figures  in  early 
colonial  history.  The  author  has  splendid  material  at 
hand  and  uses  it  with  commendable  accuracy. — The  Outlook, 
New  York. 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  fc?  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
BOSTON,  MASS. 


Another  Charming  Southern  Novel 


WHEBE  THE  TIDE 
COMES  IN 


By  LUCY  MEACHAM  THRUSTON 

Author  of  "  Mistress  Brent,"  "A  Girl  of  Virginia/ 
"Called  to  the  Field," etc. 

Illustrated.     12mo.    Cloth,  $1.50 


A  novel  with  a  fine  Southern  atmosphere. — Book  News, 
Philadelphia. 

Mrs.  Thruston  gave  her  readers  a  charming  portrayal  of 
individual  femininity  of  the  Southern  type  in  "A  Girl  of 
Virginia,"  but  that  girl  at  her  best  was  no  possible  match 
for  Page  Nottoway,  the  captivating  heroine  of  "Where  the 
Tide  Comes  In."— Baltimore  Herald. 

A  novel  of  dramatic  force,  with  a  good  plot,  character* 
which  are  distinct  and  consistent  throughout  in  the  draw- 
ing, and  a  setting  which  is  original  and  effective.  The 
heroine,  Page  Nottoway,  is  a  typical  American  girl. — New 
York  Times. 

The  heroine,  Page,  is  dainty,  sweet,  proud,  and  everything 
else  that  goes  with  the  scenery.  The  novel  is  well  entitled 
to  a  place  among  those  tales  of  contemporary  life  which 
possess  value  because  of  the  author's  actual  knowledge. 
—  Chicago  Tribune. 

Written  in  a  style  whose  quality  is  far  superior  to  that 
of  either  "A  Girl  of  Virginia"  or  "Mistress  Brent."  .  .  . 
The  local  color  is  remarkably  good.  —Baltimore  Sun. 


LITTLE,   BROWN,  &   CO.,   PUBLISHERS 

254  WASHINGTON  STREET.  BOSTON 


A  Story  of  Virginia  in  the  Civil  War 


CALLED  TO  THE  FIELD 


By  LUCY  M.  THRUSTON 

Author  of  "  Jenifer,"  "  A  Girl  of  Virginia,"  etc.      12mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50 


A  story  that  reaches  the  heart.  —  Washington  Star. 

The  romance  reads  like  the  diary  of  a  living  soul, 
breathing  with  all  that  is  sweet  and  bitter  in  life.  — Phila- 
delphia Telegraph. 

Surrounding  this  story  is  the  subtly  alluring  Southern 
atmosphere,  laden  with  romance  and  colored  by  the  after- 
glow of  anti-bellum  days.  —  Baltimore  News. 

A  tale  of  war  from  the  woman's  standpoint,  done  so 
effectively  that  few,  either  men  or  women,  could  read  it  un- 
touched. Bravery  is  the  keynote.  —  New  York  Times. 

One  of  the  half  dozen  novels  of  the  Civil  War  of  real 
merit.  The  tale  is  just  a  bit  of  life.  It  has  so  much 
of  the  ring  of  truth  that  we  wonder  how  much  is  fiction. 
It  is  a  well  told  tale  of  love  and  high  emprise,  of  patient 
endurance  of  trials,  of  the  valiant  winning  of  the  crown 
of  success.  —  Baltimore  Sun. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STBEET,  BOSTON 


A  Delightful  New  Blue  Grass  Country  Character 


AUNT 
JANE  OF  KENTUCKY 


By  ELIZA  CALVERT  HALL 

Illustrated  by  Beulah  Strong.     12mo.    Cloth,  $1.50 


This  book,  a  picture  of  rural  Kentucky  life,  will  evoke 
the  deepest  sympathy  from  every  human  heart  with 
which  its  characters  come  in  contact.  Aunt  Jane  is  a 
philosopher  in  homespun  and  in  her  "  ricollections  "  we 
see  the  beauty,  the  romance,  and  the  pathos  that  lie  in 
humble  lives. 

The  humor  of  the  book  is  softened  and  refined  by  being 
linked  with  pathos  and  romance,  and  the  character  draw- 
ing is  done  with  a  firm  hand.  Nancy  Huston  Banks, 
the  well  known  author,  says  it  is  "  a  faithful  portrayal  of 
provincial  life  in  Kentucky,  but  something  more  than 
that  too ;  for  the  universal  note  which  marks  the  value  of  all 
creative  writing  sounds  on  every  page." 

Every  one  is  sure  to  love  Aunt  Jane  and  her  neighbors, 
her  quilts  and  her  flowers,  her  stories  and  her  quaint, 
tender  philosophy. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
254  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


A     000  038  381     o 


